Sonnet 228

Though eyes may never scan these worthless lines
And tongues may never speak the words they hold,
Though heaven may not bless, this hope might find
Some paltry reverence as a story old.
Surviving as a parchment from this age
Perhaps requiring translation to explain,
Desiring to some distant soul engage,
And touch what human vestiges remain.
Once, lost in time, a man a beauty loved
And he did love her with a force supreme,
But yet his troth to her could not be proved
And she a mighty truth forthwith demeaned.
What matters to a love that lasts all time,
If it be etched in unrequited rhyme?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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