Where are you roaming sweet, where are you now
My pleasure nymph forever taunting truth?
What bounties reaped of sinful seeds so sown,
That field oft plowed but bearing little fruit?
The winds of time, be they yet cruel or kind,
And are you still held prisoner by your glass?
Enumerating sad each time worn line
And guillotining swift each pallid tress.
I mourn for you, though not for loss thereof,
And I am certain you cry not for me
For what to move a heart betrothed to lust,
In love with self and ever so to be?
One heart was n’er enough to sate your needs;
A garden blessed that bore not more than weeds.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.