A Cyrano Scenario
 
I stand beneath a terrace, verse in hand,
Rehearsing rhymes composed to aid a friend—
And though no fan of pimping on demand,
I see her now, and — wow! — it’s aptly penned.
 
She’s at the railing, taking in the moon
While, draped in shadow, I await a chance
To croon aubades and sonnets, make her swoon,
Then freight my friend, by proxy, to romance.
 
But he is shy, unsure of girls like this,
And, as the scribe, I know of what I speak;
So if I advocate, and earn her kiss,
He’ll botch what I achieved with deft technique.
 
Perhaps I’ll save my friend his mortal pain
Should she succumb, and bid him to the light.
So he won’t fall— ashamed, defamed or slain—
I’ll scale her battlements, and win the night.