Sonnet I: The Silver Thread
Upon the loom of time, the threads are spun,And woven through the fabric of our years;We chase the golden shadow of the sun,And water every planting with our tears.Yet though the autumn winds begin to blow,And strip the branches of their summer pride,Beneath the frost the quiet roots will grow,Where secret truths and promises abide.So let the seasons alter as they will,And let the river hurry to the sea,The memory of love is living still,An anchor in the storm for you and me.Though dust reclaims the beauty we have known,The seeds of all our triumphs are our own.
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