Of all love’s splendors, first is constancy,
Though capricious iridescence oft may play
Upon the mind to paint sweet fantasy—
Light winsome charms to tender hearts way lay.
While many trip the pathway of delight
And languish ‘neath that orb of shining dreams,
Life’s burdened truths may seem a sorry blight,
As rare does hope play out as one would deem.
Love is composed of pleasure and of pain—
Sky splendored bows need showers as well as sun;
But when so seen, we oft forget the rain,
That both are bound in glory, as if one.
Embrace both sad today as glad tomorrow,
Love’s faith sustains in sweetness as in sorrow.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.