Sonnet 17

The evening finds me here again alone,
‘Midst pictures and fond memories of you;
And long dark shadows now do set the tone
Of somberness that haunts each night anew.
The sun then slowly drowns itself in night
And smothers evening gold in grey and gloom;
And tears of salt do blur and sting my sight,
As I recall your presence in this room.
The sweetness of your smile still lingers on
Much like the smell of blossoms, summer born;
And thus I feel you here though you are gone;
Your memory is my rose, the pain my thorn;
For not a day has passed since you did leave
That sorrow has not stalked without reprieve.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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