Sonnet 402

A poem of you, too beautiful to hold,
I would not fix it thus to memory
For then the essence of first wonder bold
Be damned unto familiarity.
What shame to so debase a beauty rare,
To simply have it hence at beck and call
And drag it forth from rote in stale compare,
To court dull ears that gods could not enthrall.
Let those sweet words remain on parchment brown
Perchance to catch an eye yet rondel blind,
Or for my sight to simply scan anon
And raise in poignancy, dear thoughts to mind.
From time to time as not to wear the rhyme,
Enjoy the wonder of a song sublime.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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