Sonnet 178

What love to blame, darling, what love to blame?
I loved you truly, this I thought you knew;
He loved you too, three hearts, two loves, one shame.
There love from twain your selfish heart did skew;
Love of one’s self is not but vanity –
You played us both but for some twisted pride,
Brazenly flaunting each, for all to see,
To raise your worth and this true love deride.
I fault him not for he was too betrayed,
Yet what he thinks of me I may not know,
Into the mists of time, I choose to fade,
Despostic pride cares not where true love goes;
Pray tell, what have you gained for love of one?
Vainglory such has garnered love of none.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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