What right have I to feel I was betrayed
When fate and time and chance must have their due?
In truth, no promise ever there was made
That joined us in a bond as one, not two;
And have I then the right to grieve my loss?
To bathe myself in self-reproaching woe?
When casualty has tarnished future gloss,
And not deceit—for still your heart is gold.
Yet your fair face did rob me of sound sight
And made glad hope transcend reality,
And misinterpretation was my plight,
Believing of you what I chose to see.
Yet for such error why should I then be sad,
And weep for loss of that I never had?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.