These Etched Golden Bands Poem by H E Alexander

She wakes with the sun, runs her
fingers through soft golden hair
and stretches. I am awake,
though she is not yet aware.
Her image, reflected in the glass,
shows faint story lines around each eye;
eyes iridescent blue, never still;
intelligence implied.

A smile brushes her lips;
thinking an amusing thought?
So infrequent these days;
undeniably, she's fraught.
Life takes its toll, it cuts and erodes,
yet she's so blessed with strength within.
Love abounds, unconditionally
bestowed upon her kin.

O, the sweet longevity
of these etched golden bands.
I don't deserve what's gifted me,
though welcomed with e'er grateful hands.
I don't need to tell her ev'ry day;
without a spoken word she knows,
but still, she likes to hear me say:
I deeply love her so.