Sonnet 117

Here in the cruel clutch of old winter’s grip,
I warm myself with precious thoughts of you;
The eye, the cheek, the brow, the ruby lip
Could melt the coldest heart, with but a view!
So as I gaze out at his frozen might
And see proud summer branches bent with snow
Your countenance fills up this barren sight;
And as spring’s smile avers, his reign must go.
But you are still so far away from me,
As distant as the nearest thoughts of spring,
And yet within the frigid forest I see
Warm shadows that this reverie does bring;
These shadowed thoughts of you shall swathe my heart,
‘Til you return, and ice and snow depart.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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