The Passover.

You may be able to recite
great lines of lovers’ prose
but darling, when your memory fades,
will you bring me roses?
In looks you may surpass the rest,
your strength be that of stone
but when white hair snowflakes your crown
will you bring me roses home?
Your charm and wit, your sweet finesse
may woo the girls with words’ caress
but when the girls have all but gone,
who will love your faults the best?
With wrinkled hands, and aching knees,
memories blanched by life’s sunlight
who will close their eyes and lay by you
when your own have lost their sight?
For beat by beat love passes by
those too afraid to stay and see,
but I pray that when it hovers close
fear passes over me.

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