Sonnet 330

What of your epitaph now yet unsung
That I shall carve here on the slates of time,
To mark your precious worth in words among
The very best that hands have etched in rhyme;
If this be so your memory ever stands
Although the carver unto shadow fades,
Your grace shall linger in the minds of men,
Immortal beauty so survives the grave.
If but my humble hand could play this part
In sculpted words your story so be told,
By grace of God and pen I here impart
A song that shall be sung in ages old.
This paper stone I smite for all to read
Who cherish virtue and find truth their creed.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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