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Love into old age
When I am an old man,
Long since past caring,
I will sit with you,
Old Woman,
In quiet communal staring.
Then,
Though
Occasional slaver might drip
From a chin,
Noiseless we will remain;
Enjoying the serene,
Remembering back,
Or dreaming of
What-might- have been.
You,
A young girl again!
And,
Despite
Translucent
Blue templed
Skin-skull
That the slightest jog
Might dislodge,
I will love you,
Still.
by Michael
Speakman
Read the story behind this poem
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