SONNET 702
By JH Sayyar
You: the morning's hush, evening's grace,
The secret echo in my silent prayer,
A light that lingers on thy gentle face,
And dwells within the stillness of the air
When all worlds is dark and hope is thin,
Thy voice, like distant harp, begins to rise—
A peace that kindles fire deep within,
A beacon shining through the stormed skies
No fleeting dream, nor rose that fades at dawn,
But steadfast as the stars thy presence stays.
Through loss, through every joy I've drawn,
Thy love remains, the soul of all my days.
So let the years their quiet story weave
In thee, my heart believes, shall not grieve.
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