She Doeth Despise Thee Poem by Velmar Pewee Hale Johnson

She loved thee once,
but now she doeth despise thee.
No more does she yearn for thy
touch on her creamy, smooth skin.
Ye shall never smell her sweet perfume,
nor hear her laughter
echo through out the house.
Hold back thy aching,
throbbing pain she has
left deep below thine soul.
If only she knew how much ye really loved her,
but no, she has left thine castle,
to partake of a swine's brothel.
The slut, the wench, the ungrateful, but lovely,
charming girl with the golden hair,
the sky blue eyes.