There is sweet sadness when by lovers torn—
I torture heart and soul on which to choose,
When each, by each, is sure a beauty born,
And both so dear, I tremble one to lose.
Here weighed by purest virtue, both the same,
No single one alone holds finer grace;
By choosing one, the other bears the blame,
And one I crown, the other I disgrace;
Still choose I must, ‘neath eyes of man and God,
Though both as wife and mistress still allure,
But wife or mistress, still one heart is trod,
And to all eyes, at best, I play the boor.
What must I do when every right seems wrong,
And joy and sorrow mingle in one song?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.