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. All Rights Reserved.

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