...The story of a girl in London, England


Sonnet 33


I worried, sick with apprehension’s taste.

Intestines wound about the dreaded deed

Within my stomach, deep and bitter. Faced

With time elapsing, drawing nigh with speed

What I could naught but do, but do it I

Could not. And so I waited, wearied by

The waiting, wishing I would up and try!

If only to relieve the knot a while.

And then, of course, as courage plucked me up

Enough to say, “Enough!”, and have it out…

I found that you had languished in the rut

As well, but how was I to know? I doubt

A woman and a man will ever learn

It’s best to spill your guts—each one in turn.

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