I penned another verse for you today,
My minds’ eye focused on your visage fair;
And as a child with blocks, with words I played
As though to build a strophe beyond compare.
With stalwart pen each word was put to form
And each did follow each to mark your praise;
Thus in so doing, some gestalt was born-
A tower of truth that might all eyes amaze.
But towers of truth may still come crashing down;
These jumbled words now speak toward this end,
Fair tribute in such form cannot be found
For truth and beauty rarely can be penned.
Now here I sit midst scattered words so strewn,
A humbled child, set but to start anew.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Was it the cruel October wind and rain
That brought back bitter memories of you;
Or yet, perhaps, the leaves all crimson stained
That harkened to that final pained adieu?
Perhaps it’s but the winter yet to come
With frozen breath and stinging shards of ice,
That frosty shroud that smothers like a tomb
The vestiges of some sweet former life?
Though recollections fade with passing years
And pain may be assuaged by soothing time,
A single falling leaf can beckon tears
When brisk winds send a shiver down my spine.
How thoughts may stray, I may yet never know;
But thoughts of you return when cold winds blow.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

A grim new world forged here by clawless hands;
Graved images, the darkling brood of brain;
Dour monuments defying time yet stand;
Stone echoes that intone rude pride’s refrain.
Vast forests here in splintered plunder lie;
Wild rivers now enslaved by slabs of stone;
Proud mountains that did once uplift the sky,
Now rubbled in drab valleys down below.
What mighty wonders has this being wrought,
And from whose charter does he seize his sway?
What future, born of havoc can be got
When conquest blots the very light of day?
What suckled creature ever here gained right
To mar his mother’s face with brute delight?

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.