When April’s blossoms in your cheeks have turned
Into the withered blight of blooms past prime;
When youth’s proud pyre to coldest ashes burned,
And graceful poise now bends ‘neath heavy time;

When auburn tints give way to sullied snow
And brightest eyes turn to a shadowed grey,
When months and weeks and days all faster flow,
Gilt memories there into the mind shall stray.
’Tis then, perchance, your thoughts will turn to me—
Remembering so bold, brash love without peer;
A heart as large and constant as the sea,
And truth that stood your guardian without fear.
Now as you bask in golden memories deep,

Mourn love your fickle heart could never keep.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.