SONNET III
by Lady Anabel Ravaya de Guzman

I thought, perhaps, to step out of the mold
In which fate and bad choices had me cast,
To throw myself at life ere I grow old
And yet find love before my time hath passed.
So I declared myself to thee too fast,
Not so content to wait for thee, good sir.
In verse I sang thee, hoping to the last
That my poor words would set thy heart astir.
I'm neither tall nor graceful, would I were,
Nor quick of subtle wit and repartee.
I have my heart, though, wounded by the slur
Of thine indifference, healed by pride to say
That if I am not good enough for thee,
Then thou art not good enough for me. 


from the February 1997 Seahorse