Sonnet 445

Of warmth unending true love so appears,

At first a lusty fire white hot with praise

Engulfing all the sweets there passing near

In fervent flame soft tender hearts to braise;

So marked by time each pyre runs it’s course

Though all aspire to be eternal flames,

Yet when the hearth grows cold in dank remorse

Of gelid ash, who then shall bear the blame?

The truth remains that unstoked blazes die

For needing still more fuel that gave them light,

So left unfed they soon in embers lie

Consumed anon by their own crazed delight;

Yet tended daily still may ever burn

And for such state may two hearts ever yearn.

Loubert S Suddaby poems