If I might sow a line for you in time,
On what fair aspect of you should it dwell?
Should it be prose—or better still, a rhyme?
What silent secrets of you might it tell?
Of peerless grace and beauty would it speak?
(Well knowing words can never capture worth.)
Or should it sing of sterling heart replete
With virtues rarely seen upon the earth?
To willingly commit to such a task,
Yet setting out the goal in but one phrase,
Is but an errand that a fool may ask;
(Or yet a lovesick muse bereft of praise.)
One line but sown with seed as rich as you,
In time, from ink, this sonnet tribute grew!

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.