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 more splendent than first blush of spring?
Whose voice sounds sweeter than the warbled 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.