When the Magic Dies

 

The most awful thing of all is when the magic dies,

or rather hides itself from our adulting eyes

unlike when we were kids and, thinking less,

the sounds and colors seeped into our consciousness,

and listening to God’s creation sing

for us, we felt excitement for the smallest thing

and “five more minute” sunsets blazed

with all the urgency of end of days.

But though the world will less and less intrigue

our aging senses blunted by fatigue

and golden moments whisper more than shout,

you have to promise you will never doubt

our marriage is astonishingly rare,

though seeming common should your eye compare.