Seasons
In the Spring of our Love, I couldn’t get enough.
Everything was exciting and nothing was tough.
I could lay with you, and never feel that I was wasting time.
I let you play like a boy. You let me quietly rhyme.
In the Summer of our Love, Life was a careful juggling act.
Whenever the art was fulfilling, our debt was large and
stacked.
Where to live, work and grow was a daily question asked.
But our hands remained fastened, and our Love unmasked.
In the Fall of our Love, our Devotion was the Cure.
Our two-some grew, and opened a future always insecure.
The strain of Life stretched us far beyond our grandest
fantasy.
The Joys were never Greater, and the Sorrows our greatest
Misery.
In the Winter of our Love, energy slowed though never
stopped.
Our adventures became few, but our hands never dropped.
While sipping tea, my memory’s a blur of our long-lived
life.
But what remains, is the stain, of adoring being your Wife.
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