Dance of love
Once, when there was so much love time danced from its edges,I worried that it could not last;like the fresh sprigs of spring,it would darken and later fall,to be lost in musty obscurity. Those worries came from ignorance:how could I know that when love is nurtured it transforms;that heady, jaunty jive evolves into a slow comfortable waltz,swaying to the tempo of memories.