Response to Sonnet 12

I shall not watch the hands that tell the time,

For fear of days that hasten into night;

The face I loved to touch when in its prime,

Is wrinkled now behind a beard of white;

Our mutual past is captured in a book

And photographs collected in a box,

To reminisce we only have to look,

Not count the hours and minutes on a clock;

The beauty of my love is held inside,

His touch, his words, his generosity;

Such things as these can never be denied,

Despite tenacious time’s velocity;

The photographs remind us of our truth

And illustrate our everlasting youth.

 

©Kim M. Russell, 2015

Advertisements