So . . . how 'bout a rhyme?

Shall we begin with a sonnet? ("Oh yes, please," you all say, like good English schoolchildren.)


Over It

If I had said the right words on the phone,
part scholar and part wry comedienne,
or if instead of leaving you alone
when you were sick, I'd brought you broth, and then
if I had listened to the lesson less,
to poke and tease and lean my shoulder near,
or listened more, attentive to impress,
and whispered cogent comments in your ear,
if I were shorter - would I fit the bill?
If I, one of your fanbase hundreds strong,
fought harder for you, would you love me still?
I asked, but knew the answer all along:
I'd never feel a lasting, loving glee
in winning you by slowly losing me.