The Magic Dew

"Make love to me," she whispered. This was new,
Only the second woman to suggest
This mainly unclaimed heart sunk in my chest
Held any wanted ardour. That's my cue,
I thought, a sprinkling of the magic dew
That made them want me. I was surely blessed,
Took up the challenge with my usual zest,
Caressed her throat, and stiffened for review.

She loved me, briefly, but the months rolled by
And she loved someone else, and then once more
Doled out her favours to me. I adore
Her still, though I remained, always, too shy
To ask again. She married a sweet guy
Who took her swiftly to the Wicklow shore.