What can I say that was not said before?
Yet still you importune with lying eyes;
Comportment past attests you are a whore,
Now shamelessly returned to ply your wiles.
I begged you not to scorn these loving arms
But high on lust or spite, you chose to leave;
And now, sham victim of some grievous harms,
Love spurned, come back in tears, on bended knees.
Still worse, I learn that you are ripe with child—
Yes, heavy with disaster’s bastard now;
And here returned with but a strumpet’s smile
To state misfortune’s mine; that I should know.
We once shared misery, oh woe betide!
Now mine’s expelled, and yours grown deep inside.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.