The story of our love must be
written very large and bold,
for I find as I grow old
I haven't always my glasses with me.
I loved your kisses, never doubt,
when we were passionate and young
but now be careful with that tongue
as my teeth tend to come out.
Forgive me, should I leave your embrace
because I need must run and tinkle;
though age gives love a brand new wrinkle,
I find yours still the fairest face.
Stephen Brooke ©2004