the season of love

This here now is the season of love,
yet again I find my friends,
falling deeper into this deep alcove,
good for them,
that I feel,
but yet instead this sense of dread,
more for me than for them,
what I had I threw away,
yearned instead for forbidden fruit...
typical, typical,
grass is greener on the other side,
of which rules of love should never abide,
regret? nay, this is not regret,
but it is something over which I fret.
So is this a season of love?
I wonder I wonder...