Sonnet 207

That evening I sent you a white pure rose,
Well knowing that you always favored red;
Perhaps in forgiveness, I wanted it so
For some things seem more keen when left unsaid.
I had it delivered up to his room,
My hired sleuth assured that you’d be there;
For cause unknown I watched out in the gloom,
Gray moon a smudge, my face a moveless stare.
Two silhouettes embraced, then lights went out;
My eyes burned deep into that blackened pane-
All life, all love, all hope I cared about
Seemed in an instant gone, fair promise slain.
A fool, a street, a rose, a broken heart,
A night, a moon, a pane, a shameless tart.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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