What care I now that you should love me so,

For were I gone, you would soon find another;

Yea, ‘ere the grass upon my grave could grow

Your arms would surely clasp a fresh-found lover.

What say we then—that love should ever stand,

Where simple audit proves it rarely true?

What oath once sworn can passion not remand—

And so of “ever after”, what say you?

Love is a dream in which fond souls partake

In fantasies of bonds that outlast time,

Where tales of loyalty still hearts awake…

False fancies of two hearts forever twined.

Eternal love? A wisp of fleeting breath—

That sings of specious constancy ‘til death.

© Loubert S. Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.