Sonnet Two Out Of Three Poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro

She was too kind, wooed too persistently,
Wrote movin' letters to me day by day;
The more she wrote, the more unmoved was I,
The more she gave, the less could I repay.
Therefore I grieve, not that I was not loved,
But that, being loved, I could not love again.
I lusted, but lust and love are far removed;
Hard though I tried to love I tried in vain.
She was a dark-haired beauty, thin and short,
With cinnamon skin. So hence it befell
That though I loved her in a certain sort,
Yet did I love too wisely but not well?
I wanted and needed her. Don't be sad
I told her 'cause two out of three ain't bad.