Sonnet 550

When I first touched your hand I cannot tell
For in the mists it lingers with your smile
To resonate much like a soft rung bell
As to when struck or fades, continues still;
And when of time we shared the primal kiss,
Of many since, it seems a drop of rain
That watered so broad fields of endless bliss
Or gilded yet the vast and plumbless main.
So bless sweet time that blurs when it began
There clouding memories of love’s first embrace,
So seems the blush of fervor on the pan
That ever still two souls as one engrace.
It matters not when love first claimed the heart;
It matters most that we shall never part.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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