Her hands felt like waves
The way they seemed to tumble on endlessly
Wrinkles were like tide and wake
This was what he called beauty.

He used to run and jump and climb
To keep her gaze
Write verses and sonnets and rhymes
About her unblemished face.

His walk was now slow
And her eyes and cheeks showed
Countless travelled miles
So many years of smiles.
Made his heart run and jump
And write verses and sonnets
In the language of Love.