Sonnet 374

Her passing there was but a fond dismay

For those who loved her knew it was her time;

I paid respects though I was far away

Lost in another land, another rhyme.

She was both mentor and a precious friend;

The letter came to me a bit too late

And found me sitting with my pen in hand

While she was softly closing heaven’s gate;

Her worth to me? Why I may never know—

The gift of knowledge has no measured part,

That endless treasure that she did bestow

I spend in homage to her favored art;

And here inscribed in ink on paper white,

I yield another tribute to her light.

Loubert S Suddaby poems