Yes, those who read these lines in times to come
May doubt the measures I have scribed in words,
For lovers oft of loves do gift such sum
That their lovestruck assessment seems absurd;
Which beauty has the hair of fine spun gold?
Whose cheeks out-blush the tender light of spring?
Whose voice sounds sweeter than the warbling notes
That Philomel the nightingale sings?
But your sweet grace transcends all written verse,
Your countenance a standard for all time;
When pure words fail, hyperbole seems truth
That captures beauty’s essence in a rhyme.
May those that doubt gaze once upon your face—
Dumbstruck in sight no words exist to trace.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.