Sonnet 155

Sylvia, sweet and light of heart was she,
A flower garden grew within her breast;
On her dear head, spice scented ebony,
Soft silken skin was alabaster dressed;
Dark eyes enchanted with angelic light,
Rose lips did burn with savored honey sweet;
Touches tender that tingled with delight;
Pureness with which god’s chosen souls compete.
By heaven’s grace she wandered to my arms,
And oft in moonlight I did watch her sleep,
My soul immersed in her ethereal charms,
And I entranced by love I could not keep.
Sweet memory is a prison of a kind,
As love that’s lost may haunt us for all time.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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