As I sit in my old wicker chair,
Looking at a picture of our wedding;
You, putting a rose in my hair,
And giving me that cheeky grin;
The hands of time swing backwards,
And suddenly we are sixteen again;
You are staring at me without a word,
Under the guise of a truth or dare game;
Your eyes are filled with something,
I have not yet come to understand;
Like a magnet, they pull me in,
Until I can barely manage to stand;
The delicate threads of our souls,
Begin to weave an intricate story,
As you look at me nervously,
Yet like you are fascinated by me.
Those years of quiet loving,
heedless to all else happening;
Are the only moments I discover,
When I look back to remember.
Everything else has chipped away,
Like the dry bark of a tree;
Leaving behind only the core,
Of the Sweet Gum Tree.
The Poet: Aquilina
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