The tall thin stateliness of number one,
the swan-like gracefulness of number two,
Emily loves. Her heart’s a precious stone
that only sparkles when our callers coo.
So Two has won the match but lost his spirit,
escaped the prison of this working life.
He felt the wink was false; he could see through it,
knew Cupid’s poison arrow was a knife.
And One has lost the match but free to worship
dear Emily. There is no more to tell
except to ask, my darlings, was she worth it?
Is love a palace or a prison cell?
Alas, you two will join as one in marriage,
you’ll make your vows and know she feels the same
but time will show your love to be a mirage
the night she cries your number, not your name.