As We Grow Old
The man I dream of,
is tender but strong,
and I will be the music,
to the words of his song.
His eyes will give comfort,
as I talk of my day,
and I will listen completely,
to all he will say.
A hand to hold,
a heart of gold,
together,
as we grow old.
Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2009
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