Sonnet 362

I have not written any poems today,
For thoughts in verse seem meaningless to you
And so by simple script what hope to weigh,
Enshrined in ink, what passion to imbue?
I still believe my words can reach your heart,
That gentle lyrics might your soul inflame,
That love’s endearments set my lines apart
From others false in praise that laud your name.
Yes, I have scriven much in silent prayer
Imploring gods that you may one day read,
That of my ardor you might then compare—
And so, by force of pen, true love accede.
Of fondest dreams that ever lived in rhyme
May this rondel sweet touch your soul in kind.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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