By Grace, she forgave him.
In his heartfelt fantasy she forgave him.

Admittedly you have little choice~~
and so I forgive you for loving me.

I forgive the lust
you always confuse with love.
Forgive too your slavery to beauty,
your sometime devotion to duty,
your superior size and your omnivorous eyes,
the delight you take in women other than I.

I forgive your being in charge;
I forgive your frightening, authoritative voice,
your bravery and courage,
your superior strength and size.
I forgive your condescension.

I forgive you for loving me
most often when I wish you wouldn’t,
for thinking me pretty
when I am so awfully crabby and ugly.

I forgive you the pleasure you take in me
so terribly often in spite of me.
The way you walk proudly beside me,
the clothes you buy me,
the lilt in your voice in discussing me,
the firmness of your hand guiding me,
the gentle way you resist when I exercise my option to accuse.
And I forgive your honest willingness to accept my unwarranted blame for me being me.

I really do love being adored!
In spite of me, don’t ever stop!
I would not be this cruel
did I not trust in the certainty of you.

I forgive you for keeping one as undeserving as I;
and please remember I cry and I rage,
because I just don’t get it!
How one so lowly as I could bring that light to your eye.
And who is this woman you carry in your heart?
You are so eager to please, whom you so clearly adore?
And why?

I forgive you for loving me.
And I do also permit you,
supplicant as you insist upon being,
to continue sweetly loving me.
It seems, now, that
in the absence of your fanciful eye,
I would die.