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 misfortune’s bastard now,
And here returned with but a strumpet’s smile
To state misfortune’s mine; that I should know.
We shared misfortune once, oh woe betide;
But mine is out, and yours now deep inside.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.