It is my wish that I with pen in hand,
Devote my waning minutes to your grace;
That those read in ages yet to span,
May know the wonders of your sainted face.
Yes, paintings may ensconce the outward glow,
Daguerreotypes entrap reflected light;
But in a poets’ ink we yet may show
The captured essence of the soul’s delight.
True beauty is not just a shapely form,
Nor yet a visage blessed by angels fair;
It is a truth that never can conform
To vogue belief—or yet fond fashion’s flair.
But beauty’s truth unknown succumbs to time—
Hence yours shall live forever in my rhyme.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.