Ruth S. Ozanich
Poem by Ruth S. Ozanich
Some think love is for the young
And Fool's illusion Time,
But I think love is for the old,
For you I'll sing my rhyme!
Hot young love is passion's tool,
Gluts itself, and asks for more,
Often discontent, feels Fortune's Fool,
Walks out and slams the door!
Old love grows along with Time,
Builds its own illusion
Satisfies itself, in satisfying,
Finds Love's own conclusion.
Yes, I'll I sing of you, Old Love,
And Happy Years we've known,
Reaping harvests of the Lasting Love
That we have sown!
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