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 harm,
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.