Our children revive our love

Our love isn't a mime, nor a rhyming song, But one we sing that stings with grief and shame. A robe we wear with sorrow all night long, Our hearts no longer with passion's flame. The ripened time prepares to draw us wide, Our bond not stronger than a weathered stone. We stumble, yet let silence be our guide— Love suffers round the clock, but stands alone. Still, old age cannot steal what friends endure, The sign still swirls within each rising breeze. It brings a comfort quiet and so sure— A vow that in our minds will never cease. Our children's glow revives the love we knew, Their presence paints our friendship warm and true.