Sonnet 391

But would it bless you more if these dear words
Might linger in the murky mists of time,
Where those who ever do so read this verse
Should feel your essence in each scriven line?
Pray that they dwell not on the pen or hand
That writ this proof, save for sweet passion framed,
For yet in truth, a dullard could command
Some fervent favored utterance beauty named.
In simplest sense they might my ardor note
Perhaps remarking, ‘what so drives this soul
To strive in wanting cursive and so dote
Upon this mythic maiden words can’t show’?
But even doubt shall find my saving grace
‘Mongst heartened souls who’ve gazed on such a face.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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