Sonnet 32

Could poets’ breath breathe life to barren lines
And capture beautys’ soft and gentle hue;
Could silent words touch chords of loves’ sweet rhyme
And recreate the roses fragrance too;
Then in these lines I would fair Sylvia paint
And beckon forth that subtle melody,
No sweeter sights or scents could intimate
A prouder tribute to her memory.
In pen and ink her virtues thus expressed
Shall praise her worth despite times endless siege
Nor should a beauty ever age unblessed,
For worth unknown, to time does then concede.
Thus in proud verse I praise her with my pen;
This praise to stand ’til time itself shall end.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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