Sonnet 362


I have not written any poems today,
My thoughts in verse seem meaningless to you
And so of simple script what hope to weigh,
Jot twined in ink, what passion to imbue?
I still believe that words can reach your heart,
That gentle lyrics shall 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
So may this vesper touch your soul in kind.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved. 

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