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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