Spilled Blood
Donald P. Goodman III
Version 1.0,
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!