Love was young and yours was mine,
Nascent marriage was a well of hope,
Though many hills we’d have to climb,
Our passion was sufficient to the slope.
Passion indeed! Soon we were parents,
Though worn at the edges, we sensed we were young,
Yet youthfulness fled when the child was present,
Life’s a tasty feast, like salt on the tongue.
Though raising a child is no easy feat,
Your mothering force seemed never to tire,
By days end though you might have looked beat,
Energy soared as the crying went higher.
Grown now, challenges come with fury and pace,
Reasoned arguments abound, gone is the whine,
Cheek to cheek, each is met as though one face,
Ah, love still feels young, and yours is still mine.
– For my fair Katherine … Wint