Sonnet #73

She knows me not. She used to know me well,
Aye, there was a promise between lovers
That we would follow each other to Hell
Or Heaven if faith we could discover.

She thinks of me not. In her mind I ran
Constantly, a welcome addition
To her thoughts. A strong, well intentioned man,
Where once men lived not of her volition.

She loves me not. There is no way around
This fact, which of course I would like to change.
My cry into the damp depths does resound.
Redemption: there’s no way to arrange it.

For this is too broken to be repaired,
But it would be nice to know that she cared