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.
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