At the end of all this,
When your spines bent
And when I have arthritis,
When our wrinkled and spotted fingers reach out for each other,
When we still kiss eachother goodnight every single night,
When our grandchildren grab at our faces and question the meaning of life,
When we are wrapped up in eachother on our bed just as we did sixty years before,
We will look back,
And our old pale cheeks with blush with color,
And our blurry tired eyes will brighten,
And we will have the most vivid memory of how it happened,
And our time-worn old souls will be woven into a perfect pattern,
Just as the universe had woven our lives.
(i. r.)
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
At the end of all this,
When your spines bent
And when I have arthritis,
When our wrinkled and spotted fingers reach out for each other,
When we still kiss eachother goodnight every single night,
When our grandchildren grab at our faces and question the meaning of life,
When we are wrapped up in eachother on our bed just as we did sixty years before,
We will look back,
And our old pale cheeks with blush with color,
And our blurry tired eyes will brighten,
And we will have the most vivid memory of how it happened,
And our time-worn old souls will be woven into a perfect pattern,
Just as the universe had woven our lives.
(i. r.)
