It pains me so that beauty may not find
A face and form as grand as yours to hold,
Or yet be blessed by sterling heart so kind
When God has deemed it time for you to go.
What loss to all who knew that golden smile,
The very tears of heaven sure to fall
In homage to the brief telluric while
A mortal angel held the world in thrall.
I have reflected … faces borne on time …
Their marveled essence frozen so in stone,
Envisaged sweet when drawn from well inked rhyme,
Or splashed in strokes upon broad canvas strown;
In all of these your visage stands apart,
None more revered than those locked in my heart.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.