The Stone Wall

I saw her sitting on a wall of stone
As on her flaxen hair the sunlight shone;
And as I gazed the summer sun stood still,
And robbed my mind of thought, and legs of will.
I stood there motionless amidst her grace
And watched the warm sunshine caress her face,
Dreaming those gentle sunlit hands were me,
Drowning my soul amidst that imagery.
A short sad moment later she was gone
Though in that silent spot I lingered on;
And in the west dying sun did burn,
I stood there still, awaiting her return.
I placed my hand upon the stones now cold
And thought if they could speak of memories old,
What would they say of our brief meeting there;
And would they tell of sunlight on her hair?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 84

For Time shall cease with these deft strokes of pen
And in proud ink your memory here live on;
All future eyes who read will muse again,
And marvel too, these words my gold baton;
Thus could a poet’s hand out wrestle Time,
Or in rhymed writ Times’ spoil of grace forbid,
And could a poet’s wit outshine his mime
And in sweet words, fair beauty’s scourge be rid.
Then this shall be your shrine forever more;
Your shield against the ravages of age;
Your proof, the grandest charge a poet bore;
Your beauty’s truth, not just a poet’s rage.
Be this the hand that made the world stand still,
And your sweet grace outlast, by poet’s will.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 83

For love can turn to hate and hearts to stone;
As joyous smile may twist unto dread frown;
And sweetest hopes can darken to sad moan,
And in fond truth, black lies may still be found.
The best perceived may yet become the worst;
The surest victory kneel to defeat;
The staunchest friendship may, with time, be cursed;
Great fortunes razed to poverty complete.
Thus with bright light comes sable shadows deep;
As golden sunshine will succumb to rain;
Into the roses’ heart, vile insects creep;
And wicked time, fair beauty will defame;
But my love for you ever will stay strong;
As love so sure, will right each wretched wrong.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 82

How will you remember me when I am gone;
A zephyr or the thrust of wild storm,
A moonbeam or a lustrous ray at dawn,
Grey April, or a burnished August warm?
A raucous river or a placid lake,
A windswept plain, or yet a mountain grand;
Anfractuous wave or gentle ocean wake;
A jungle deep or stretch of golden sand?
For I shall linger in both wind and rain,
The dark side of the moon and silver star;
Great deserts sure, and too, the watery main:
Near in your heart, and yet remain afar.
May nature’s aspects ever be my shrine,
And their sweet forms, my silhouette in time.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.