Sonnet 151

From the first smile until the last tear falls;
From strident cry unto soft rattled moan;
From that first sight a mother’s heart enthralls,
Until the final glimpse of casket gloam.
Yet though we know life’s prelude and its end,
We may not know the hand that turns each page,
And we know not how each brief drama wends,
When grief or glory shall ingrace our stage.
Yet who would but forgo a mother’s touch,
And who of flesh would scorn love’s first sweet kiss,
Or who might deem a father’s pride too much,
Or fail to see a newborn child a bliss?
Though grim the story seems that ends in death;
Within each line lives joy in every breath.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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