What a pass
	Has come to be,
	When every lass
	I see
	I think not
	How sweet,
	How kind,
	How warm
	And winsome
	May she be,
	Nor how much love
	Or care or fun
	We might share.
	No—I wonder
	What demands
	She would make,
	What hurt
	And ill and bother
	It would be
	To share our lives.
	I suppose
	I've sunk deep
	In selfish misery,
	Deeper even
	Than I already was,
	When my query
	Simply is:
	What's in it for me?
	What would I
	Have to give?
	How much pain
	Would I
	Have to bear
	To share
	Some small bit
	Of love?


© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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