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 poems