He goes to speak to my true love,
who knows not that I love her.
His winning smile and charming style
will fail (but he'll recover).
He inches forward as they talk,
she slowly inches backward.
Advance, retreat, the dance repeats;
she makes him feel awkward.
His words are sing-song, flowery.
He coaxes with his eyes.
Her patience gone, she starts to yawn
(his dream of passion dies).
He shifts his weight impatiently,
the smile has left his face.
He cannot stay, must find a way
to get away with grace.
As battles lost in wartime tend
to cause us to despair,
so does the cost of battles (lost)
of wits with ladies fair.
So here is my dilemma,
though I've let it slip detection:
it isn't clear which more I fear,
her love or her rejection.
This poem is copyright © 1995 John Perry. Any rebroadcast or
republication is prohibited without my expressed written consent.
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