To think my devises failed,
That her heart is won.
Have I against him railed?
Not one bad word: none.

For her love is a man I can admire,
He is as handsome as he is smart.
How can I hope to aspire,
To that work of art?

I claim intelligence,
I’m witty, or so believe.
She’d find no negligence,
But would loving care receive.

Alas, in music he is grand.
I was not born with that skill.
It is he may hold her hand,
But that won’t my desire kill.

With a smiling face I give,
My tea to him,
Even with nausea I live,
As I fill his mug t’ the rim.

He’ll not receive my temper ill,
My quarrel is with luck,
From her, my soul does with wonder fill.
No, I bemoan that I am stuck.

I’ve been here many times before,
What can I do to cease this lot?
Though my heart is ever sore,
It can be a wondrous spot.

I could take her through paradise,
Loving bliss is what we could see.
We can be vague or precise,
In every manner of serenity.

We can play loud music’s tones,
Or giggle up a storm,
We could weep in passionate moans,
Experiencing all life’s forms.

We could, but we don’t.
If the pattern is held true,
Then I’m afraid we won’t,
We shan’t those gems accrue.

Pity me, friends and all,
For I love so deeply,
Only to fall steeply,
At love’s noble call.