Sonnet 724

I know I must enthrall you with this line,

Or you will never read another word.

Perhaps by now I’ve squandered all my time,

And further lines might border on absurd.

This ink, though black, springs purely from the heart

And humbly begs forgiveness for offense,

In hope the tribute that this verse imparts

Might win remission and bring recompense.

I know I am not worthy of your love—

By fate or chance I entered in your realm…

Or yet some god did cast the die above

And Fortune’s throw placed me at your heart’s helm.

For love of life I meant not to offend;

As here by truth alone, these lines contend.

Loubert S Suddaby poems