What is Love? (Part 3)
A poem —
There was a world where you were there,
Where you stayed to braid her hair,
And held her when the days were grey,
When the beats were louder than a cabaret.
You counted all her years in Mandarin,
Taught her six languages so she knew when,
Her college years came to a close,
There was no space for fear to impose.
And every night you vowed and chose,
To stand by her, your darling rose,
A portrait of your honest repose,
Depicting your light and finest prose.
But she still stumbles when she crawls,
And waits for you at every show,
At the edge of every stair,
For you complete her every prayer.
She is a vision you could not paint,
With the brightest hues and the most expensive stains,
Or duplicate her countless injuries,
As adolescence comes in threes.
Aging gnaws at your knees,
As she no longer meets your feet,
Or grips to your side on New Year's Eve,
She has new ideas and her own expertise.
