Sonnet 181

These silent heart felt words here humble drawn,
On grief stained paper where no pen should write,
All passion yet or wisdom seeming gone;
No vision left to give black ink its sight.
Yet words like tears on paper white do fall,
Or fly like crusted leaves before the wind;
Does writing such loves’ great despair forestall,
Or seal the writ that brings love to this end?
What crafted verse could ever change your mind;
What poets’ hand could melt a frozen heart?
Can loves’ sweet memories in these lines entwined
Entreat forgiveness and fresh love impart?
If words may move your heart, grant me reprieve:
Or damn me now; eternity to grieve.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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