Age of our love

A soft breeze gently rustles
the golden leaves that have fallen
scattered about,
below the twisted grey branches
of the tree
from which we used to swing.

Our names, carved by the hand
of this tenderhearted young boy,
still echo love,
of youth and of each other.

I now take your hand in mine,
and beneath the shadow of this tree,
a testament and reminder of our love,
I ask that we never allow it to fade
into the grayness of those limbs
or to dry and crumble like the leaves
that have fallen to the ground.

But that we allow it to grow
ever upward, and to be strong,
as the trunk of the great tree itself
that bears the evidence of this great love,
which beneath its arms began.