Bathsheba

I see her bathing, her hills and valleys
Are ripe for conquest, Bathsheba thrills me.
Her dull sweet husband with army rallies
Knows nothing, I flow into lust’s arms with glee.
We disposed of him discretely, her man
Of less exciting times now safely lost,
The child was not his, however else can
Such scandals be dealt with, though at some cost?
The prophet is not happy, nor his Lord,
My baby sliding slowly out of life,
In my guts, a groove is roughly sawed,
Is this the fee for her being my wife?
An empty bed, where once he smelt so nice,
My son is dead, was this worth such a price?

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