No greater challenge lives than blackest ink
Truth etched in lines that softly image you;
A simple pen in hand can make one think
And thought leads on to thoughts, as thought will do.

What portraits here to paint in cursive strokes?

What passion put to page could capture worth?
What force confined to two dimensioned yoke
Might yet convey a grandeur forged in words?
Here, humbled by your beauty I still write,
Debased by peerless virtue I contend,
Compelled by timeless merit I still smite
That plain papyrus with this wanting pen;
A fool in love who dares to but appraise;
In ardor bold, yet barren still of ways.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.