Sonnet 17: Oh, Was It A Shrew That I Didst Marry Poem by David Wood

Oh, was it a shrew that I didst marry
That now makest this heart of mine to groan
Whose warring quarrelsome tongue does tarry
And to make this thine husband’s heart to moan.
Thine sweet tongue lashes like a thousand whips
And tortures my soul with such deep pain
Shouting and scolding with thine hands on hips
Does make my head spin and drives me insane.
When all I did was to look at another
Whilst we were shopping in the market square.
She was old enough to be thine mother
And we would have made an unlikely pair.
It’s thee my sweet that’s my heart’s desire
Our love is not for the funeral pyre.