Sonnet 211

Most prayers, well framed, still lose their way to heaven,
But not the one that brought you here to me;
For in those silent moments when I’ve given
All praise and promise for that yet to be,
Having you by my side was most requested,
In earnest hope, if not in plenitude;
This wish, therefore, it seems could not be bested,
Sweet heaven still glints with tears of gratitude.
Though still I pray, it is with muted ardor,
More oft in thanks for what I have received,
This prize so great, what more could one man garner:
This heaven on earth, no bounty could exceed.
So I am blessed, and thankful for each day;
Though heaven decides, may this forever stay.

 

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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