Sonnet 88

These words, though writ for many touch the few;
The few that trust not eyes, but trust the soul;
The ones that scan black ink, yet see right through,
Where to distill the truth is but the goal.
Thus they will see the beauty of your eyes;
And marvel at the luster of your hair;
See gracious splendor here devoid of pride;
A sainted spirit breathing heaven’s air;
And they will feel the softness of your touch;
And bask beneath the radiance of your smile,
Fair gaze upon a feminine nonesuch,
Who’s virtue could the very gods beguile.
Yes, they will share the pleasures of your grace,
As I, in ink, your wonders do retrace.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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