A SONNET (of sorts)
I stole your heart and then I gave it back
Wrapped in righteousness yet still it bled
“I'm saving you for your own good,” I said
Your heart and skin grew pale, a cruel attack
“Love, it's me; it is nothing that you lack.”
Presized petals fell like memories now dead
I saw myself and I was filled with dread
My life must change; I need another tack
How could I woo and win and toss at whim
The eyes, the thighs, the very soul of him?
At the altar of reform, I swear
In sack and ash with contrite heart I dare
To ask him to return to me to home
He laughs and turns
“Alas, my lass, at last I'm free to roam .”
~ Andrea Banks Quigley
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