Sonnet 472

Time eats away the body as a blight,
Devouring man’s corporal legacy;
Eroding strength and making day his night
Til’ he reposes on eternity.
What then to say but he was flesh and blood,
Mere mortal clay unto the earth returned;
Here heaven stressed, he did but what he could
And of that reach, his gloried quest lay spurned;
Damned to that cavernous cave as feast for grubs,
His earthly worth saponified to slime,
Vanquished by vermin, ah, now there’s the rub;
All proffered prayers quite mired well in grime.
Yet of this span though it be short or long…
You are my hope and your sweet love my song.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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