Sonnet 437

The tears of winter fall upon my sill
From frozen eaves the risen sun now chides,
Retreating snow is herded into rills
Conceding ground from which the fresh blooms rise.
So sweet the perfume in the zephyrs’ arms,
So soft the blush of nascent forest leaves,
Delightful more, idyllic woodland charms
Of vernal songsters revering on the breeze.
‘Tis now as ever thoughts will turn to love
And so of you this primrose promise brings
The chorused songs of angels from above
Whose vestal  strains give all life’s spirits wings.
I see you here in each form hope commends,
A world bestirred; a love that never ends.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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