I came to you not much a beggar born,
And there I pledged my troth, your heart to win;
My only gift—a lowly life thus sworn
And all the love one humble man could give.
I clasped your hand, head bowed, on bended knee;
Scorn and repudiation set to hear;
Girding my soul, my sentence yet to grieve—
Sweet love to die upon the altar there.
Your words came as an arrow to my heart,
But not the bolt whereof sweet love lies slain;
Nay, with the best dear Eros could impart,
If love did ever trust upon his aim;
So for your love when asked what ploy I plied,
I fair reply: the gods were on my side.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.