Sonnet 317

Where are your roaming now my love, pray tell?
Silver’d willows herald coming spring,
The snow has but retreated from the dell
And in the forest winsome voices sing.
Upon the heath sweet flowers soon will bloom
And naked trees will blush in sportive green,
Fair branches yet in wedding garb festooned,
On opal ponds returning swans convene.
Now is the time that love shall bless the land
As yet it has from mystic days afore,
Bewitching so the grange in madness grand
Where pleasured hearts may dance and souls adore.
I think of times when all the world was right…
‘Til curdled colors blur and sting my sight.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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