Swears that She is Made of Truth”
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.
Thus, vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply credit her false-speaking tongue;
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
Oh, love best habit is in seeming trust
And wherefore say not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.
*a poem by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
She tought of inexperience youth; seemingly lacking in colors
Even when it served her the best plain and simple
Her nature spoke of in denial even when the echo kept on gauging strongly
She had no better escape but to embrace what was initially unintended
Let loose of the fact what she had no control over, days passed and it got her crashed