Love Clichéd: An Almost Cento Poem14

I am a sorry sight—

A laughing stock,

One who loved not wisely

But too well.

 

The course of true love

Never did run smooth.

I am sick at heart.

Jealousy is the green-eyed monster,

An ill wind that blows, no man, no good.

But love is blind.

 

In a better world than this,

As good luck would have it,

All’s well that ends well—

But not always.

 

It is better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all

But not for me.