Sonnet 209

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

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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