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 vase 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 shall outstand—

That I had not the strength to take your hand.

Loubert S Suddaby poems