We’d dreaded there’d be nothing left to say,
Moving from fondest hopes and deepest fears
Shared in courting’s dawn to the workaday,
Wednesday’s meatloaf and checkbooks in arrears,
That hearts would be silenced, tongues would be stilled
By diapers and deadlines, things which preclude
Persistence of ardor, devotion chilled,
Love’s early zeal a brief interlude.
We laugh at such now; how could we have known,
(No more than children ourselves, after all)
That devotion has a grace all its own
Which lifts us after pitfall and pratfall
(The flat tire, smudge of soot on the face)
To pilot us above the commonplace.