Sonnet 194

Innocent love, far sweeter than a child’s,
Unconditional, free of vanity,
Heart pure, lithe body vestal, undefiled,
Blue eyes so clear, the soul lay bare to see.
She loved me true, of this I always knew,
And what she gave, she asked naught in return;
I took her love as any man might do,
Embraced the figure, yet the heart I spurned.
Time is both balm and bane, it often seems;
Somewhere along the path I lost my way,
Until I held her solely in my dreams,
‘Midst echos of her tender sobriquets.
In private moments when I breathe her name…
I wonder if she smiles or does the same.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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