Sorry is such an inadequate word,
So very long after the event,
Yet I shall take it at face value,
Take it as well meant.
The bitter taste of losing out to you,
Lingers still upon my tongue,
For I think back to Cairo,
Where our love affair had begun.
I say it was a ‘love affair,’
Though in truth that is a lie,
Back then I had not realised,
You were a double agent spy,
Under the spell of both romance and sex,
You probed until such time as you had gained,
The secrets entrusted to me,
Plainly you had been most well trained,
Yet armed with those very secrets,
You shared with a covert Hun,
Meant the death of several comrades,
Up against a wall by machine gun.
Me? I made my escape,
Across the Sahara broke and lost,
Finally found the port of Tripoli,
And by ship the Med I crossed,
To the almost safe haven of Gibraltar,
Where under cover of the night,
I took a Lysander, Kent bound,
Reached Biggin Hill at first light.
Thereafter, reputation tarnished,
About the globe I went,
On special ops until the war had ended,
Yet it was always my intent,
To ensure you paid the ultimate price,
For your betrayal of this Realm,
To face a jury of your peer group,
Stayed with me; did overwhelm.
They captured you in Buenos Aires,
Following a tip off from the CIA,
Brought you back in 54,
To face trial without delay.
The night prior to your execution,
To me you dispatched a note,
Simply saying ‘sorry,’
And that was all she wrote!
- On a personal note I do not hold with the death sentence in part or at all!