I married an Israelite beauty,
But I was a warrior, not a lover,
Chosen as one of David’s valiant men;
Bathsheba said she wanted no other.
All her enticements were wasted on me.
I longed for armed camps and high-walled cities
To storm and pull down. The violent heart
Of this man had its own iniquities.
And David had his. I resented more
His staying at home in Jerusalem,
Than I did his ravishing of my wife.
Me, a warrior, called to report to him,
Like a messenger! I soon understood.
David thinks he murdered me, took my life.
Ha! I chose the spear thrust, the noble end.
May she ever be called “Uriah’s wife.”
October 24, 2011
Copyright by the author