Sonnet 141

Why reach for things that seeming can’t be touched;
Why strive for that which never can be gained;
When does the more become the now too much;
How far to push ‘til pleasure crossed brings pain?
Yet how do we determine earthy bounds
Save but to gird and give our very best?
For cowards rare in victory’s march are found;
Impossible is sure the greatest test.
‘Tis why, my love, that I pursue your grace,
When all have sworn that you will n’er be mine
Still when I first did gaze upon your face,
I promised I would have you in due time.
Though costs be great, I fairly know your worth,
And for such prize would move both heaven and earth.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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