The words have been at the tip of my tongue
For as long as I can remember.
I saw the first sound in autumnal eyes
In the first crisp days of December.
I was a fool to search for forever
Without first stopping to consider
maybe love is meant to last a moment,
Not a day, or week, or a winter.
Nor must it be plagued by incessant need
Nor be sealed by a kiss or a ring
Nor be the sweetness the poets promised
Nor give reason for the birds to sing.