But can it be that I my love shall see?
May I expect a miracle again?
Is finding, once again, my dearest friend,
My Sister-Love, a possibility?
Our struggle has been cruel irony
As such, do I suppose, will be our end;
But for a little while I shall pretend
That this, the preordained, will never be.
In fact, I will remain God’s loyal slave,
Indentured ever, hoping for reward.
So Elevated, now, above the Knave,
That I can plainly see where such is stored.
So sure am I of God’s Great Path for me,
I know that He forgives my enmity.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
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