Sonnet 47

Yes every morning have I seen it so-
Heavenly orb arise on earth anew,
Bringing glad promise in a garish glow
Like phoenix fresh from ash of which it grew.
Thus climbs the fiery grace to zenith high
Then fades the conflagration here anon,
And in so doing proclaims darkness nigh
Fair glorious gift scarce given, now is gone.
So rises human hope on gilded wings-
A promise skewed as any ever made;
Celestial malfeasance that ere brings
A dying floret to a living grave.
Yet though each morn false promise may portend;
Your loves’ my hope, and hope shall never end.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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