Sonnet 430

What laurels lie in polished flattery
Exceeding proper bounds of human praise, 
When eyes so called upon can surely see
Bold in-congruencies on casual gaze?
If so, then nothing more that I could say
Would thus be deemed to be of artless truth
And were my judgement ever so to play,
Though ears might hear, all tongues would say forsooth!
Then of your beauty, I shall understate
And of your grace, in passing, I might tell;
Of slight suggestion minds exaggerate,
Right tendered words can so by thought excel.
Of acclamation thus, I show restraint:
A few choice words, grand images can paint.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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