love has a heavy price,

time demands its toll,

ephemeral the bonds

wanton mortality stole

 

he's in bed, very poorly,

I feel he might be dying,

lucozade's not working,

I hear only weak crying

 

yet he's had a good life,

for after all, he had me,

swains I rued when he

went down on his knee

 

long years I devoted

to what is my inferior,

he never had a clue

to my secret interior

 

but thinks I'm grieving,

or I'll struggle to cope,

he imagines me alone

doing little but mope

 

contempt stirs my mind,

his fate makes it worse,

he's ruined me for men

and made me his nurse

 

I'll warm the milk later,

I'll sympathise and kid,

the main thing is he's

going, I'll shortly be rid

 

or am I being heartless?

is remorse really dead?

on balance I think yes,

I've a mistress to wed

 

(coronaverse 314)