Confused /
by femme attitudes,/
I soon knew/
I must face the task/
and ask/
a desired woman/
a difficult question.
Thinking twice,/
I sought advice/
from a female friend./
She looked at me, and then/
She queried, soft and slow: /
“Why ask me? You are Cyrano.”
And I recalled there’s always room/
for another white plume.
Oh Christian Eric, thou poor fool./
Rox Lisa wants to make you drool,/
while I, Cy, sit and dream of her,/
Mine is but a dream deferred.
For she somehow has chosen you/
to stir your magic verbal stew./
While my attentions are ignored/
And get discarded out her door.
And that’s where I don’t understand/
how I, a kind, romantic man,/
can be cast off as a verbal suitor./
Are you that much younger and cuter?
If only I had half the chance/
As you to pursue her in romance!
Just when I thought life/
was falling apart I found,/
again, the white plume.