II. Damning Evidence
I never planned on returning so soon-
I was there on business, to be sure, but of what sort, I cannot tell-
And I would not have confessed this if, in passing,
I saw my lecherous Southern belle.
I did see her, my Scarlett, but she did not see her husband
So carefully concealed, holding fast to his gold ring,
For even then my little bird was held captive to my matrimony
And would so stay, though she might never sing
Again. I saw through restless eyes her placidity
And acidity towards her friends (the ones who lived
And stayed). The weak angel sat alone
On a bench of stone, no courage left to give
The matter of her situation: lost and afraid
Without the Old South - or was it me?
And then I thought I discerned in her pretty face
The unwilted petals of a love so freshly bloomed,
And tears on her cheeks like sparkling dew,
Not possibly shed for all our Confederacy lost.
Then I wondered that she might have left it all behind
For another chance at this cad; whatever the cost.
What heavier burden could I have taken on in my heart,
Already so laden with fighting hurt that no retribution could quell
My unrest? Surely no evidence could further damn a sinning man
To a lifetime of empty beds and an eternity of welcomed hell.
