Sonnet 336

Your failure to control was deemed my fault
For female wiles oft thrive on strained consent,
To lock up male passion in a vault
While lace and satin hide all ill intent;
Incarcerate sweet love and throw the key
That fondness serenade from gilded cage;
But love’s a bird that only sings when free,
Languishing quite when trilling but to cadge.
It raised your ire that I not play this game;
What prize to win when you make all the rules?
For living thus makes ardor there a sham
And matches such are but the sport of fools.
Devotion best plays out in equal part;
What love to gain where chains restrain one heart?
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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