Sonnet 146

My child, sweet fruit of life how you do grow,
And every day more precious than before;
That darling cherub that dear God bestowed
Descending swiftly to that mortal fore.
Pure innocence from when your time began
Thrust from calm darkness into harshest light,
That rude indecorous debut of man,
From heavenly bliss unto drab earthly blight;
But as you bravely enter man’s estate,
That shadowed valley that all travelers cross,
Do not presume to kneel at heaven’s gate;
Life’s battle won is but a pitch and toss;
But live yet proud, as every soul shall die;
A smile at first, then tears in someone’s eye.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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