Sonnet 580

So little honor still remains in men,
Their souls corrupted by the glint of gold;
And of their worth, what adage to append
When to the tomb, as others, they must go?
Should carats now dimension character,
Or eminence be weighed upon a scale?
To acid tests, should purity defer?
Will wealth alone at heaven’s gate prevail?
By measure such dear values we demean
And all the treasures of sweet life confound,
All purposes of being wax obscene;
The crux of human grace abased to ground.
By praising gods born out of common earth,
So shall our spirits ever suffer dearth.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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