Should history not be kind to words I write,
Though they be steeped in but your deepest praise,
Then I should feel that I have failed you quite,
That I lack wit, your argument to raise;
But if true beauty is a blest gestalt,
The married worth of grace and heart and soul,
What virtues then would forums here exalt,
What need for flowered words to minds cajole?
Yet write I must of your sweet measured sum,
Of your warm gaze which melts the sternest hearts,
Of smile, unbridled, which outshines the sun,
Where love and bliss, a simple touch imparts;
Thus in these words of ink I here bequeath,
That once a beauty such did live and breathe.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.