Witchery [2] (Sonnet) Poem by Gert Strydom

Every morning on your face you put you war paint
and to some people you are a self-sacrificing saint,
helping old people and the poor comes from your heart
and doing such things, like a Tabitha of old, is probably a art.

The bathing salt, lipstick, blusher and perfume
do fit you well and let anyone assume
that you do not really need any makeup
and that great beauty lies under your costume

but I do know you very well,
know the truth and the lies that you do tell
do not your innocence trust
have been for years under your bewitching spell

and now that we are apart
somehow you have torn out my heart.