Was it a year ago that I was blessed,
When I could hold your hand, and kiss your lips,
Although not in the least could I have guessed,
So soon from memory this moment slips;
Oh how the world became just you and me
That webs suspend, as spun on whims and dreams,
Enthralled by hope that hearts can beat so free,
Through passion as pursued to the extremes;
Grape juice, when left in kegs, would age to wine,
But rose could lose its blooms without due care,
And so, how must this love behave in line,
How best does rose or wine to love compare?
……It now escapes me, was it last or prime?
…...It matters not, love measures not in time.
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