My love, it is myself that love condemns.
My vain and selfish heart would keep you close
in hope there still a chance that we could host
a future filled with wondrous sparkling gems.
But not to be, the the future I would score.
When magic came it was with someone else
who, with a word, a touch, a smile, no more,
could ring for you the sound of heaven’s bells.
So if this tailor ‘spite his best intent
can only make a coat of poorer fit,
then his best gift to you, in deep lament:
To recognise this magic and admit
that magic for the man he loves the most
is best delivered through a diff’rent host.
(In the style of Shakespeare. I wish I had his talent. This is the best I can manage)