Sonnet 317

Where are your roaming now my love, pray tell?
Now that soft silver willows herald spring,
The snow has just retreated from the dell
And in the forest, winsome voices sing.
Upon the heath sweet flowers soon will bloom
And naked trees will blush a sportive green,
Proud branches bow in wedding garb festooned,
Around broad opal ponds where swans convene.
Now is the time that love shall bless the land
As so it has from mystic days afore,
Bewitching thus broad fields in madness grand
Where pleasured hearts will dance and souls adore.
I think of times when all the world was right…
‘Til springtide colors blur and sting my sight.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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