With Love, Always. . .
Simple words, often spoken lightly,
Simple words holding an eternal bond.
A poem without rhyme, yet full of reason.

The passion of youth rushing forward,
Little heeding the gray and careworn
Life partners who smile with understanding,
As young lovers dance through the season.

Secretly they smile sharing knowledge
Precious, gained through the years,
Pitying of the fear of these Young Lovers,
Who fear lost youth that they see in others.

And We smile.. You and I, secure
In the love which time can only deepen.
Knowing, that the fire of passion measures
Less than a spark amid our own treasures.

Youth is wasted on the young, tis said...
Truth be told, youth is but a lonely time
Of preparation for that deeper, fuller glow.
The one we share, that seems so faint and slow.

Passion spent in youthful pursuit. . .
The price we pay for knowledge gained.
Deeper, Richer than green youth can dream
Pity them, for we are not what we seem.

I never dreamed I could love you more,
When those first passionate years we shared.
Never in my wildest thoughts believed that we
Could surpass earthly love and set our souls free!

For now I know we love far more today,
Than ever we loved each other then...
Yet we love each other not half so much,
As one moment from now, when next we touch.

Paula© February 11, 2001