Sonnet 11

You wear your years so well, my love, you know,
Three decades plus and still you look the child-
Yet time like rivers ever onward flow;
Perhaps in love ones’ eyes are then beguiled.
No earthly flower could hold its’ bloom as you,
‘Gainst seasons and the scourge of burning sun;
When other beauty lies in wrinkled ruin,
Your fairest lease shall then have just begun.
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty” it is said;
Perhaps this then explains the present state
And your fair smile is but your truth expressed,
And not some mortal hue enslaved to fate;
If this be such, the question that may rise-
Is beauty truth that time can turn to lies?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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