We soon will celebrate a sixteenth year
Together—Paul and I, a couple sure.
The date is April, time of spring and dear
The memory of love, for lonely: cure!
We heard sweet sounds on first o’r date in South;
The night was warm, the thrill had just begun.
We said but little but the charm of mouth
And word’ is little when a love hath sun.
Yea, bright the joy and light of love, us two;
Though night, it seem’d the day of love had come,
O’r joy fulfill’d in day to come, not rue
O’r sadness, singlehood, was all but done.
“If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”*
*Shakespeare, Sonnet #116.