I know now that naievete must be my life's downfall.

I listened to each word you said, believed them one and all.

Should I expect a charlatan behind each face I meet?

Do honesty and ethics fail?  Morality retreat?

Words are more important to a poetess, I guess.

I write in truth and choose words well, perfection as my quest.

Who knew you said the self-same words to me that you told her?

Who could guess your speil a practiced verse you often purred?

I wish that I had more with which to base my choices on,

But I've been sheltered from the world and not exposed to fun.

I'm just a fool who gave you all I had without regret,

So now I sit here pondering the biggest fool I've met.

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