Love...

They say that time's a thief, a cruel and bitter art, aging strains the bonds and erodes the heart. But they don't see the truth, the light that shines within. The love that, if it's nurtured, is where new life begins.

It grows inside the soul, a quiet, steady flame, a force that knows no years and doesn't need a name. It fondles the beating heart, with touch so soft and deep, a whispered promise made, for a vow the spirit keeps.

It willfully appears, from eyes that softly gleam, reflecting a shared, and ever-present dream. It whispers via eager lips, of comfort and of grace, a story told a thousand times, on a familiar face.

The nostrils breathe devotion, on every passing breeze, a scent of warmth and home, a lifetime's certain ease. The ears, they hear no sound, no worldly, passing din, but only admiration for the loved ones deep within.