What miracle of life, what wonder so,
That through our sacred senses beauty tends
To shape within the mind and there bestow
Great joys that may with sorrow still contend.
Thus so with eyes I see a beauty bright,
With eager ears I hear endearing sounds,
Her warm embrace and kisses, pure delight—
Wherein touch, taste and sweetest scents abound.
Yet senses are but agents from abroad,
Who have returned to bring in measured form
Some semblance of a truth that may cloak fraud,
Though by gestalt, create an image charmed.
Some beauties are but well constructed schemes
That in the dawning, fade like sultry dreams.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.