Sonnet 248

Of all love’s splendors, first is constancy,
Though others with their iridescence play
Upon the mind to paint sweet fantasy,
Light winsome mimes to tender hearts way lay.
While many trip the pathway of delight
And languish ‘neath that arc of shining dreams,
The burdened truths of life still there bedight
As rare does hope play out as one would deem.
Love is composed of pleasure and of pain,
Sky splendored bows not spawned just by the sun
But when so seen we oft forget the rain,
That both are bound in that brief glory span.
Embrace both sad today as glad tomorrow,
Love’s strength sustains in sweetness as in sorrow.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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