True love is not a fleeting thing, a fading flower
To be tossed aside when it begins to wither,
But revived, replenished, methodically nurtured,
Restoring the natural beauty it had in its beginning.
Comes the time when lustful romancing subsides,
Matures, perhaps, is the better word to explain—
But the foundational love remains to be watered
And fed, overshadowing the disappointments
That come...
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