Are the leaves of autumn less glorious than spring
Does the sun shine less brightly past noon
Is night’s cloak less adorned or illumined
By the light of a full harvest moon

Has the sea lost its romance and mystery
Since man first beheld the shore
Have the stars in the heavens given up their fire
Do we long for their wonder no more

Is the game at its midpoint determined
Is intermission the end of the play
Is the vision of the sculptor truly revealed
In the unfinished half molded clay

Is a woman in full flower less alluring
Than a girl in the first bloom of life
Is the naïve young maiden more enticing
Than the woman who is mother and wife

No familiarity need not breed contempt
And beauty is not coupled to youth
For the woman who has lived, in all that she is
Reveals this magnificent truth