Sonnet 552

What does it matter that we loved a day,
A week, a month, a year, a lifetime — more?
What matters most is not what time should say
For depth of passion ever bests that score.
Time more confounds but ever yet subtends
The mortal measure of sweet ardor spanned
And so, despite the blights all love contends,
Exalts in those brief hours she commands.
So be our time together short or long
And ever like the tides, love wax and wane;
Though notes of doubt may tremulate our song,
Within your grace I pray I shall remain.
Let time but stay as sequent seasons changed
And through it all, our love remain the same.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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