A lady you are, fairest of the fair, And love, it seems, has arranged this appointment, Obliging my response, a joy to share, But a brief promise that breeds disappointment: For married you are, just newly a mother, Our tenure in your beauty a contradiction Which you resist, and I attempt to smother, As we sit here, untouchable, a fiction Romance with its own plot and happy ending, Baffled by logic, truly out of sync, And sordid, easily dispelled, heart-rending It cannot be, teetering on the brink Of a goodbye; and may our paths diverge And bring to naught this thought of as an urge.
