Of all who have deceived me,
Of those I could not see through,
The one who I resent the most,
Is the one I thought most true.
I'd rather know all the wicked,
Exposed as such at first glance
Then have to decipher a liar,
Or find out by timely chance,
That my instinct had failed me,
My impression was quite skewed,
And every act that had been made,
I had so willingly misconstrued.
And I don't easily give my trust,
Nor hand it out for free.
Yet somehow I got fooled again,
Again! I could not see.