Sonnet 464

From precious blossoms was your beauty born,
Of heaven scented flowers adorned with dew
That hailed golden sunshine every morn
And stippled lush green meadows with their hue.
No greater vision could yet grace my sight,
Than those blushed pinks that softly grace your skin
Where ever yet a sanctifying night,
Of moon and stars, embolden thoughts of sin.
A paragon of Nature without peer
Where every light or shadow can so play
Upon the minds of men to thus endear
Their souls that then their hearts be swept away.
Would that your innocence such power presume:
Vast worlds so vanquished by a single bloom.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s