Sonnet 184

If words can move you, let them move you now,
Before the last of love fades from your eyes;
For if you leave, my head shall ever bow,
My loves’ weak substance, ever too despise.
Yet with what grace do I your pleasure hold?
What worth not spent does your dear heart secure?
To please your fancy, play I meek or bold?
What proof of love would your sweet soul immure?
Then call I now to happy hours spent,
To every memory worthy of loves’ praise,
To warm embrace and kisses heaven sent,
To joy and laughter thronging wills and ways;
And may black ink admixed with silver tears,
Anoint new life to all that love endears.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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