To my eye, dear love, you never seem old
For vision oft diffracts in memory,
As flooded eyes may change what we behold,
So may sweet visage morph in poignancy;
Thus when I look at you I see through time
As through clear windows over gardens green
Where stand reflections, but beyond in kind,
The true depiction of that which is seen.
So does your present float upon the past
As paned reflection of a doubted truth,
As if upon your likeness mirrored on glass—
A second image of your love worn worth.
‘Tis then my eyes fair swell with pleasured tears,
And I gaze on love’s fond remembered years.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.