The Tender Toil of Matrimony | A Poem by Daniel Klawitter

First came Spring—

All rose-red and morning glory!
And then a mild Winter.

But the frost of futility could not reach
The River that sustains us.

And now, my dear,
At the end of the story—
I anticipate those Summer years to come:

When we turn gold like wheat
Ripe for the harvest.

There is no need to fear the farmer of us all.

For I am told that love never dies…
It just grows older and hides
On the other side of Fall.

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