She Poem by Steve Woodward

She will out-live me
But not out love me
When I am naught but dust and vapour
A whispered breeze o’er a Sunday dew

For through the years of gladness and grace
I will love every part of her changing face
And hold every smile and rage as a keep sake
To be glad that one; at last became two

And those that came before will see
For those who come after will remember
That I loved all of her seasons
And weathered all of the tides

So that in time when she comes to remember
On all that was good and on all that has past
She will know that I loved her truly
And find comfort in the thought.