Sonnet 554

I brought you true a bouquet of the sun
Fresh plucked from fields and ripe with heaven’s praise;
You placed them in a jar and hummed a song,
Arranging blooms beneath a happy gaze…
Then turned to me and beamed a radiant smile
That took me back to sun drenched meadows fine
Where from I’d walked that jaunty joyous mile
‘Midst orchid scents and sassy pink orpines.
I had no gifts to bring save but those flowers
But you received them as a treasure pure
And on your porch we sat and talked an hour,
Rapt poppycock and nuanced airs demure.
Of chances lost, this memory still out stands—
That I had not the strength to hold your hand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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