It is time for the annual Valentine's Day poem. She seems to like these more than any other gifts.
Mine have always been longer, free verse. This is my first attempt at rhyming:
People look. What do they see?
A chubby old lady. A gray-haired old me.
They see the right now. If they saw forty two years
of passion, tolerance, joy and fears,
some would envy. Some would scorn.
Some would be skeptics. Perhaps some would mourn.
The blessed would nod shared understanding.
They embrace the cost of loves demanding.
Mine have always been longer, free verse. This is my first attempt at rhyming:
We met. We were young. You were easy on the eyes.
Now we get old. You are easy on the soul.*
Now we get old. You are easy on the soul.*
People look. What do they see?
A chubby old lady. A gray-haired old me.
They see the right now. If they saw forty two years
of passion, tolerance, joy and fears,
some would envy. Some would scorn.
Some would be skeptics. Perhaps some would mourn.
The blessed would nod shared understanding.
They embrace the cost of loves demanding.

