Eighty

And when we become eighty,
Our love for each other will be; maybe?
I see you in crowds when you aren't really there,
I hear your voice, see you in other faces, but where?

We shared, oh, so many things in our past,
Memories of love, laughs, and tears to last.
We touch and hold, lightly kiss every other year,
Never leaving each others arms without a tear.

We live our separate lives far apart,
We made no promises even from the start.
Oh, my dear, dear sweet love,
Perhaps another time, another world, above.

by Alice June

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