by John Harrington

On you I based my very self-esteem
And counted every moment we were two
As if I had monopolies of you
Possessed you as a diamond does its sheen

But then I did the worst a man can do
And cast away a fortune for a dime
Profaned all that before I thought sublime
And ruined any chance I had with you

And now a January moon looks down
And mocks my tears with driving, searing rain
He seems to take a pleasure in my pain
And flashes me a dark insidious frown

There is no greater insult to the soul
No wound is deeper, nor no deep so low