Harvests do require times of planting:
After months of labor comes the prize.
Peace arrives at evening, passion slanting;
Pleasure, deep and true, is no surprise.
Yet on the way, in moments of affection,
A glance can turn the heart to liquid gold.
No paradise has ever reached perfection,
Nor is love less rich as one grows old.
In love there is infinity and time:
Vast truths are glimpsed just past the ecstasy;
Each moment comes complete with wind and chime,
Reminding us of what it means to be.
Sing, then, of goals that discipline require,
And loves that years of loyalty inspire,
Revealing joys that over time accrue,
Yet are eternal, infinite, and true.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon