This love I had to forfeit swindled me.
Everlasting ardour was a ruse.
Impregnable in perpetuity
a myth, a fabricated subterfuge.
Blissful in its web I sweetly slept,
secure in the enchantment’s verity,
engulfed in passion’s tide delirious swept
intoxicated, basked in certainty.
But the nectar, which enchanted me, withdrew.
Sweet opiate was turned to brackish swill.
In sudden fancy, he to another flew
abandoned me, and left me weeping still.
Be wary when your lover says forever.
You’d best be on your way, and love’s ties sever.
A sonnet by Judy Zarowny