Love is not given, but is earned in kind—
The sweetest form of reciprocity;
Yet unrequited, is a chain that binds
The stalwart heart in cold despondency.
What must love do to earn this sacred trust
When sweetest overture is coldly spurned—
When gentle offer meets a curt rebuff
And fairest praise to darkness is returned?
True love is sentient—it lives or dies,
But what to nurture this most precious seed?
Where silver words and golden gifts belie,
No symbol yet surpasses simple deed.
Though gilt and grandeur oft false hearts pursue,
A simple rose can win a heart that’s true.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Though my heart aches and aches—yes, aches for you,
Your grace remains untouched by all my pain,
And I, a wretch, with naught but hope to lose,
Here pledge my all, your favor but to gain.
Stand naked I—bereft of courage, bare—
With eyes too weak to meet your sovereign gaze;
And you, a beauty true beyond compare—
No mortal lips can voice your worthy praise.
There numbed to silence, I still sit and dream
That one day soon I might yet hold your hand,
And in these thoughts explore love’s tender schemes
To win your heart and reign in sweet command.
In dreams I rise to storm the castle gates;
At dawn, I yield to all that love conflates.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

I play these words for you on my piano—
Gently, softly and ever so lightly;
Rich chords to stir the music in your soul,
Sweet fading notes felt ever more deeply;
This little song of love, my gift to you
For all your tender kindness, past compare,
And all those countless things that lovers do
That make hearts sing, or simply stop and stare
At love’s pure majesty, grown one from two.
As music mingles like two rivers joined,
As arms embrace and meld fond hearts as one,
Impassioned couplings ‘neath a silver’d moon…
So let us sing and dance our life away—
And may our love’s sweet music ever play.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Red roses given are a gift sublime
And capture love’s sweet essence in perfume;
But blossoms crowning thorny stems remind—
Short distance sits between sharp barb and bloom.
As love can bring both pleasure and great pain
So fitting then this symbol of true love;
Though charms abate, the memories there remain,
With pangs or pleasures ever hearts to move.
A bitter sweetness thus enshrines the rose
Whose flourish fades, yet favor transcends time,
As floral odors on a lover’s clothes
Wane from the silk, but linger in the mind;
Though scented petals oft love’s stage adorn—
Rare is the heart that never braves a thorn.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

One life is not enough to live with you;
Reminds the fading glory in the west,
For he at dawn renews his golden hue
As we drift daily closer to our rest.
His march relentless, measured out by time—
Though oft the clouds besmirch his radiant smile,
Yet to our eyes, each day a steeper climb
That leaves our limbs to bear a heavier toil.
Though time’s pace quickens, love grows ever strong,
Where months turn weeks, and weeks turn fleeting days;
Still, be our time together short or long—
What matters this when laboring in love’s praise?
Yes though our sun may set, it too shall rise—
Each day I see forever in your eyes.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

That I was never worthy of your love
Has been declared by many a sharp tongue;
Yet hearing such did spur me to reprove—
Of all your suitors, I sought love alone.
Though lacking of fine purse, I drew my wage;
No title given—this I won with sense,
Sound proper wit, no wisdom of an age;
Life was my school, and toil my recompense.
With righteous patience I did bide my time,
Each promise made, in truth I swore to keep;
One purpose sure—that you’d be ever mine,
True love thus sown, in vested hope to reap.
Though not of noble birth, I begged your hand—
Not lord nor king…but still, a self-made man.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

If courage found might place your hand in mine,
And let me search those deep, dark sultry eyes,
Might gentle fingers in sweet love entwine
And heart to heart, dear smiles of love apprise;
Soft whispers then of many love-worn thoughts,
That slowly waft upon the twilight breeze,
Where breast to breast and lips to lips now locked
Enrapture hope—life’s pure, eternal theme.
But you sit now so far away from me,
No simple arms to breach that chasm cross,
There frozen fast in doubt’s uncertainty,
My love’s own strength, endorsing here a loss.
Yes I—a craven fool—lost in my part,
Lips poised to kiss, now tremble with my heart.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.