When we see that elderly couple,
Once more talking blissfully on the bench.
I always wonder what words of wisdom,
Those two may choose to give me and you.
Would we scoff at their counsel,
Or even demand they’d step aside?
For what could they teach us,
That we don’t already know?
We’ve felt that glorious sweet rush,
Even brought our house on cloud nine.
You’ve played your songs for me,
And I’ve written my poems to you.
Our love? It’s as constant as the course a river takes,
Even as strong as the proudest of all mountains.
We know, all of our friends secretly wish,
They were me and you… They do, right?
Maybe we could teach them the meaning of love?
Not some pretence but the real deal, even what we have:
But then again why is it always me, that feels such envy,
Whenever my gaze falls upon them and their tender ways?
Their compassion and love,
Transcendent beauty from above.
Oh… What is it? The mystery they’ve found,
That eludes the grasp of true love.
I want to know, I need to know;
What possibly could we lack even now?
So I’ll swallow my pride,
And ask their secret,
Then the old lady chuckles
And with a wrinkled smile, softly speaks,
My dear child, you’re already in love,
But always remember that it’s spelt T.I.M.E.
Time to care; time to grow.
Time to forgive; time to love.
Yes, even time to forget, why you first fell in love;
And yet more time, to fall in love all over again.
In our many years together, we’ve learnt,
That is truly how love should be spelt.
And though our beauty may fade,
Just as the color of my hair once did.
When love is spelt correctly,
That, dear child…
That is pure and forever will stand,
Just as bright and beautiful,
As my love’s sweet smile is to me.
