How do you dislike me?  Let me count the ways.
At least half of what I do and half of what I say
Seems to irritate and frustrate you.  
My deeds mistrusted and misunderstood
As something other than selfless good.
Your suspicion steals a narrow view
Of how I would prefer to spend my time.
So the sentence precedes the crime
And love is shackled in its gaol,
A prisoner with no parole,
Once found guilty, condemned for all,
And nothing can now avail.
Imagined crimes will never fade
And penance be ne’er truly paid.