Watching You Grow Old
A poem
A poem
You are not the flower,
fading with each passing season.
You are the roots, planted deep,
growing wiser, stronger,
weathering each storm.
With wonder, I watch the story of us
being etched upon your skin.
Each line a verse,
each crease a stanza
in the epic of our love song.
My fingers trace the art of you,
this canvas of a life
being beautifully lived.
You are no sculpture
chiseled from cold stone.
You are warmth,
you are life, enduring.
Ours is a wellspring
that cannot run dry.
For in your eyes,
I drink from the cup
of forever’s intimacies,
tasting our infinity.
In the shelter of your embrace,
I am home
wrapped in your unwavering strength.
You are the moon,
and with each cycle
your soul blossoms more brilliant.
With you, my love,
I will forever be in awe,
writing stanzas against your heart,
our poem,
our forever,
just beginning.
