The grip, the bond, the brotherhood's call,
A pledge he made, surrendering all.
With letters emblazoned, upon his chest,
He swore allegiance, putting them to the test.
His sweetheart waited, with longing eyes,
For stolen moments, beneath twilight skies.
But meetings beckoned, and projects arose,
The fraternity's needs, before her sweet rose.
He spoke of service, of leadership's art,
Of shaping men, and playing his part.
But whispered promises, like petals, would fade,
Beneath the weight of the oaths he had made.
The late-night calls, the hurried goodbyes,
The constant absence, behind her sad sighs.
He built his legacy, in brotherhood's name,
While love's tender flame, flickered and waned.
She yearned for his presence, his hand in her own,
A future together, a love fully grown.
But the grip was too strong, the bond too deep,
In the fraternity's fold, his heart he would keep.
He wore his letters, with pride and with might,
A beacon of service, shining so bright.
But in the shadows, a love lay in pain,
A sacrifice made, again and again.
For the man of the letters, so noble and bold,
Chose brotherhood's story, over love's tale untold.
And though he stood tall, with his brothers so near,
He lost a true love, year after year.