Like Old Wine
Love has an end,
You once told me.
But my love is endless,
Regardless of the years
Which fly by and progress.
It did come in
At the window,
But does not go out
At the door to vaporize
In a masterless drought.
Like an old wine,
My love matures,
With time it ripens,
Buoyantly evolves,
Grows in resilience.
poem by Paul Hartal
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
