Sonnet 183

It 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 fear for one to lose;
E’en measured by pure virtue, both the same,
Not one or other holds the finer grace,
By choosing one, the other I defame,
And thus one love endorse and one disgrace;
Yet choose I must, ‘neath eyes of man and god,
Though having wife and mistress does allure,
But wife or mistress, still one heart is trod,
And to all eyes, at best, I play the boor.
What must one do when every right seems wrong,
And joy and sorrow mingle in one song?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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