This Picture Can't Tell The Story
I remember when our picture was made
My shirt, crisply starched; My smile wouldn't fade.
We posed like the lovers we had become
Light danced off our hearts: such fiery aplomb.
Those days we would rest, as our list grew short.
The whip, quickly cracked, would loudly retort
And propel us ahead to undone tasks.
"Tired?" said you. "Not I. Why would you ask?"
With patience our portrait soon develops.
And with shutter's, snap, time magically stops.
Crisp lines on my face, my starched shirt belies.
Time does not stop, and it strengthens our lives.
A picture may be worth a thousand words.
That I can't find the right one, seems absurd.
The story can't be told in one picture
Of the love and laughter I've found in you.