It won't matter when
your spine begins to wilt
when
your face tilts down
having lost the strength to
glow
It won't matter no
when your arms begin to
lose
their tone and skin hangs down
from your aging creaking
bones
It won't matter then
when your eyes begin to fade
when
wrinkles grace the curve of
your slowly sagging
cheeks
But just remember Dear
when you find those streaks of
gray
to pluck them one by one in
pairs beginning always with
"He loves me not."
In a list
Thoughts, Feelings, Interpretations, Experience:
Comments
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Poignant
Your poem speaks of profound love, the type that is not only endearing but enduring too. Reminded me of a poem by W B Yeats about Maud Gonn (not sure about the surname spelling) where he asks the question who will still love her but he when "young men no longer catch their breath as you walk by" - the words are approx as it's 25 yrs since I read them lol.
I love the pairs reference - sweet.
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Desire and lust go with time and dust, but nurtured love and affection can grow and green forever.
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He loves me :)
You know what? With all its gentleness, this piece has an undeniable energy that can make a beloved look forward to the distant tomorrow without fear and hesitation. Who indeed would not look forward to being caressed by the timeless tenderness of his love? Who indeed would not look forward to tomorrow with zeal if she knows that there her hand however rough and wrinkled would still find itself resting in his faithful palm? Who indeed would not mind seeing shades of gray in her crown when she is certain that even if she loses them all, like the flowers he gave to her, the number of her glorious petals would always shout "he loves me?"
Wonderful piece. I loved it loved it loved it loved it loved it!
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