Raw heart now salted gingerly with pain,
And of this dying love what shall remain,
With hope strained tears my passion I did stain,
For love of you; no greater prize to gain.
The strongest love may unrequited be,
And greater hearts have sold their dignity
In sad belief the other might yet see,
That only love can bridge eternity.
Still, love is both a mountain and a flower,
Immovable, but with a gentle power;
A monument to love and to love’s vowers;
A beauty that is right for every hour.
Yes, it is clear you will not take my hand,
And in this humble solitude I stand;
Love is a flower and yet a mountain grand;
Your heart’s desire is ever my command.
Will you remember, sometimes, when I’m gone,
That once a man did offer here his bond,
That he would fight and die if you were wronged;
And you would never listen to his song?
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.
