In Competition No. 3286, you were invited to submit a toe-curling Valentine poem to Harry, or to the love object of your choice.

Meghan and her frightful poems were the inspiration for this assignment but perhaps we should cut her some slack; as Carol Ann Duffy has said, love poetry is the hardest to write. Mindful that some may be heartily sick of the Sussexes and their shenanigans, I widened the brief, and while most of you had Harry in your amorous sights, other love objects ranged from Sergei Lavrov to Nicola Sturgeon.

Honourable mentions, in a smallish and patchy entry, go to Richard Spencer, Robert Schechter, Susan Firth and Nicholas Lee. Also eye-catching were John O’Byrne’s tri-ple haiku to Alexa and David Shields’s Betjeman-inflected Valentine to Jacob Rees-Mogg. The winners, printed below, earn their authors £25 each.

The first time that I saw your face
It hit me like a big spotlight,
Or like the Pacific wowed Cortez
(No call to fat-shame him, alright?)

My love for you is fabulous,
More powerful than weed or coke,
As precious as an Oscar win.
I’m mad for you because you’re woke.

A lover and a fighter both,
In bed you are red hot.
I love you for your sexy beard
And for the Taliban you shot.

Dear Harry, though your family
Puts you down to fifth in line,
You’ll always head my hit parade.
Please be my valentine.

Basil Ransome-Davies

Flame-headed hero! Husband! You’re no spare!
Forget those mainstream media barbs and spears;
you’re cute, like little pandas are, and rare,
so turn your martyr’s cheek to envious Piers.
Now, speaking of those pandas in line three,
our romance is no muddling confusion;
we’re black and white in concert, you and me,
like zebra stripes, a ying-and-yangy fusion.
I am your Princess, you my Prince, and we
shall live out Californian dreams beneath
blue skies while telling all when on TV
to Oprah, smiling smiles of whitened teeth.
Oh, Harry, though you sadly got frostbitten,
with you, eternally, I shall be smitten.

Paul A. Freeman

Sweet William, take me to Balmoral,
in tartan sheets we’ll be immoral.
Your princely lip I yearn to chew,
your eyes and blood cerulean blue.
Your arms are buff and made to hold me,
at Sandringham let them enfold me.
I long to be your match at polo,
I’d never leave your mallet solo.
together we are heaven-made,
we’re Paddington and marmalade!
I yearn to stroke your polished noggin,
‘IwuvWills’ is my password login.
Let Catherine keep her royal crown,
for you, I’d leave the drawbridge down.
Oh, noble Windsor chap of mine,
please be my clean-shaved Valentine.

Janine Beacham

¡Corazón, mi querido!
Your luscious libido
Is infinite, brooks no excess,
Tally-ho! ¡Ay caramba!
My viola da gamba
You bow with exquisite finesse!

My heart knew in principle
You’d be the Prince I pull
One day, the Windsor I’d marry.
Throughout every débâcle
Your Markle’ll sparkle,
O succulent, truculent Harry!

Mike Morrison

Sweet Harry boy I love your look
I love the way you wrote your book
I love the way in which you live
I love that you’re so sensitive
I love the fact you have blue eyes
I love the fact you can’t stand lies
I love your crinkly smile so tender
I love that you’re so cool on gender
I love the way you scold your Pa
I love the way you drive your car
I love your flaming ginger hair
I love it that you’re called The Spare
I love it all because you see
I know you’re lonely just like me
Sweet Harry boy for you I pine
Please let me be your Valentine.

J.C.H. Mounsey

I love you, Harry, since first sighting;
I love your tales of Afghan fighting.

I love to hear how you first yield-
ed to a woman, in a field.

I love your tales of snubs and slightings
And how they pad out your ghost writings.

I love to hear about your willy
Smeared with face-cream: it’s so silly.

I love it when the sun’s bright glare
Reflects from where you’ve lost your hair.

I love the way your beard-hairs rasp
Along my thigh and make me gasp.

I love your hands, one here, one there:
And how I wish you had one spare.

A.H. Harker

No. 3289: man down

You are invited to provide an extract from a politically correct version of a work by an unreconstructed male novelist or poet (please specify). Please email entries of up to 150 words/16 lines to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 1 March.