The rising sun spills gold upon my page,
Gilding the hand and pen of which does write
These words of love replete with passion’s rage,
As your celestial vision sears my sight;
Yes, blind I am with love, yet not so blind,
As not to see this fleeting, golden time,
For if we couple not, what stays behind,
What princes then remain to reign sublime?
Then come, my sweet, and drink from love’s fine cup,
Embrace my form that we two meld as one,
Proclaim our promise to the gods above,
And in short measure, here our ardor burn;
Before tomorrow’s sun shall climb on high,
So consummate mid shudder and sweet sigh!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.