What does she see in me with those sweet eyes
For I’m not more than but a beggar born;
What favored calculations could comprise
Her musings on my worth, thoughts not forlorn?
Perhaps not more than she should pity me-
A mongrel mutt left on the street to fend,
And of her kindness, here my bounty be
Thus I her interest but for guilt contend.
No! High compassion would not give her heart
To some sad wretch in need of charity,
Nor does her deep affection here comport
With action based in broad philanthropy.
I am quite sure she loves but me alone
And I a pauper now upon a throne!
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.