Sonnet 221

When April’s blossoms in your cheeks have turned
Into the withered blight of blooms past prime;
When youth’s proud pyre into cold ashes burn,
And graceful poise now bends ‘neath heavied 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 oft into the minds’ eye 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,
A truth that stood your guardian without fear;
And as you bask in golden memories deep,
Mourn love your fickle heart could never keep.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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