it seems the years run by and by and by,
and change is thrust upon us, sans consent.
as days turn into decades on the fly
the passions and the struggles wax content.
by merc'less sun and storm and cold like space,
the lines and cracks caused by this world must form.
and yet without this process deep in place
our life would shatter in the slightest storm.
in coming days when our descendents peer
to see how once upon a time we stood,
they'll see how tenderly we cared, my dear -
and how we looked ahead toward their good.
these fissures, thus do seemingly portend
a long and happy life with you, my friend.
Your comments are greatly appreciated. nandor@wellington.org