By Claire Brown Bower
Date: 4 July 2000

The Pretender

The handsome woman falls from love again
as, low, the shadows marr her moistened cheek
His words have fraught her well of inking pen
This morning's sonnet song she cannot speak

And though she knows there will be many tears
She shall not love another in this way
for words cannot, in darkness, reappear
and syllables, sweet, cannot her heart display

So on she moves about her charming life
tearstained behind a mask of sweetest silk
Beside her lies her cold and sharpest knife
Her cup is full but tastes of bitter milk

And in the dim and dark'ning hours of night
she lies between the supple solemn lace
and yearns for words, his lanterns glowing bright
to come and lift the mask from off her face
                                     
                                  ~ Claire Brown Bower