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What Honour Brings
Ah! That Resplendent Robin.
Tell me how I can forget
her?
I choose to stay
away,
though she be near.
No sight, no sweet touch.
This torture lasts year to
year.
No soprano song,
for me to hear.
Ears yearn for the sound of my
name,
still I shed more than a
tear.
That I might stand in her presence,
and her full confidence share.
For me to ask,
'How does she fare?'
invites an answer more
than this heart can bear.
Like the first off fright of water hot
that bites the bathing sore all red,
I fear the searing pain might bring
when these cleansing words be said -
'Of her tender affections yet promised
though to me her heart be dead.'
By GhumBy 5/8/98-22/12/99
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While the conclusion of this poem sounds bleak,
there is 'always' hope for the future because
my Lord is Sovereign and He Rules Supreme.
