Sonnet 456

Those swollen undulations rest my cheek
And lo, the drum beat of my love I hear,
That sound that says love waits not for the meek;
All triumph stems from deeds of ones who dare.
Could she but know these dreams are hers to bless,
Or that my hopes reach to the moon on high;
That I would die here for her happiness,
That for her favor, I would ever vie?
All is lost— anon she weds another—
Black hours of fate draw near to crush my soul.
Could she yet have the strength to flout her father
And run with me not knowing where we go?
The morning sun now gathers in the east…
And to unbridled love, the final test.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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