While motives for the act are so far hid
and wiser souls evade me or say nought,
I struggle to account for what you did -
unkind of deed or negligent of thought.

Perceiving in my scaly coat a *****,
you cast your blow with subtlety and art;
ere pity stayed your hand or bade you think,
you etched a bleeding cross upon my heart.

And as that ***** falters to the worse,
sole poultice that would salve the wound escapes.
For you were both my soul-mate and my nurse;
bereft of you my heart grows still, then breaks.

I wish that in our bliss I'd used more care!
In loving you too well I laid me bare.