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 | / |  _____           _               | \ |
 | / | |  __ \         | |              | \ |
 | / | | |__) |__   ___| |_ _ __ _   _  | \ |
 | / | |  ___/ _ \ / _ \ __| '__| | | | | \ |
 | / | | |  | (_) |  __/ |_| |  | |_| | | \ |
 | / | |_|   \___/ \___|\__|_|   \__, | | \ |
 | / |                            __/ | | \ |
 |___|                           |___/  |___|
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Spilled Blood

Donald P. Goodman III

Version 1.0 (7 March 1202)

How do I love thee? Let me count the many ways;

I've given to thee every joy that thou hast known:

the sweet rejoicing of thy youth's most precious days,

the happiness which fills thy prime when thou art grown.

And when thou spat and scorn'd me, still I lov'd thee well;

thou brok'st the world, and brok'st my heart, and yet I held;

thou brok'st e'en me; I bled for thee, until I fell,

blood spill'd by thee, whom I have lov'd, but yet rebell'd.

And still each day I suffer yet the self-same pain

inflicted by the one I lov'd, with whom I dwell'd.

How do I love thee? None can such a love contain!

A love which joyfully will hurry to be slain!

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© Goretti Publications 1207 (2023).

All material in this Gemini capsule is offered under the CC-BY-SA license, unless otherwise noted.

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