When the road ahead
Seems dark and dreary,
That's when our faith kicks in.
Donna, my dear, it should be quite clear
To anyone who has watched you trot
An inchworm you, indeed are not.
For despite your sensitivity,
The following poem was written in December 1978 as a letter accompanying a Christmas gift of a gold bracelet to my wife.
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Oh, deck the halls with boughs of holly,
For tis the season to be jolly.
Alas, this season my spouse did reason
That a hot toddy
Dear Vivian: 'With this ring I thee wed! '
Recall those words, sincerely said?
Since that day, ten years have passed
And the tides of time have gently lashed
Oh my wife is always talking
About a little ring.
She never tires of squawking
About the filthy thing.
The air is humid; the sky is gray.
Nothing seems right - what a dismal day.
My disposition is heavy like the sky overhead;
How often I've wished that I'd stayed in bed.
Fifty years a priest you've been,
Fifty years of forgiving sin.
Sacred love propels your life,
While overcoming neglect and strife.
Some would have the whole world wed,
Others would view that thought with dread.
It seems in fact that some will wed,
While others will wait, and wait and see,