Sonnet 286

My resting place shall ever be your heart
When mortal dust to dust does thence return,
Ensconced in bosom true, never apart,
Together yet we’ll walk upon the brome.
When you look out across a prairie grand
Or at rough ragged mountains purpled grey,
Boreal forests vast in proud command
Or golden fields mute temperate winds do sway;
There you will see me, face to burning sun
Or softly melting into stands of trees,
Near lofty summit, victory nearly won—
Or wandering foothills like some errant breeze.
Your quickened breast will tell you I am near,
And we together have but god to fear.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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