You wear your scarlet letter proudly, do you, little Evita?
Truthfully, I think that deathful sin becomes me more.
Not same, but similar we are in other respects and choices:
Tragic figures who have chosen “better to reign” in our own worlds.
But for your transgression, I consider how Milton must have felt
While writing the story of the first Son and Daughter losing for all
The Paradisal innocence–weeping as he penned it–the prideful pair
Surrendering complexly, tragically what you give up simply, comically.
Innocence lost, a scarlet badge of courage sewn cheaply with words
That fit the millennium’s tide and the evening’s reveling mood;
You give to me coy eyes and expect me to answer with the usual response
To those looks–pointed barbs–with your lilting dance of speech and expression.
I weep with Milton, though, and lay a greater claim to sorrow than he,
For I add my own weakness and sins, so evident to me, and I suppose to all–
But perhaps he did the same; can you not see the grief behind his narration?–
And though I hide my shame and you display yours, we two are equal in our fall.