Pain, Its Sting So Early Fading

by C.B. Anderson

Arise, dear Sarah, from thy sullied bed,
Awaken from a troubled sleep
And dwell upon the plundered maidenhead
Thou falsely thought was thine to keep.

If shame ill suits thee, dear, then blame the wine,
Or blame thy readiness to trust
That tall, well-spoken cavalier of thine
Who overcame thee with his lust.

For breakfast now, an apple or a peach?
Thy lap was like the apple Eve
Once proffered, moist and firm, and poised to teach
A truth no man shall disbelieve.

So little hast thou lost: a shred of skin,
Mere parchment hardly worth the pain
It costs to rue its loss -- the greater sin,
To shun what Nature doth ordain.

But will he marry thee? Alas, he'll not,
For thou art broken -- though as fair
As ever in the eyes of men whose lot
Has been to beg for thee in prayer.

© 2009 by C.B. Anderson


About the Author

C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Many scores of his poems have appeared in dozens of print and electronic journals. His e-chapbook, A Walk in the Dark, can be read on the website of The New Formalist Press.


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