On Love

Love is a gift at any age,
Yet young love's often blind,
To the flaws of one's beloved
That strain the ties that bind. But, love that comes in middle age
When love's no longer blind, ­
Then one can choose a soul mate,
With a clear and open mind. Oh, love that blooms at a later stage,
When maturity temper passion,
Now becomes the bread of life,
Not just a passing distraction. So, if you feel love's passed you by,
That all has come to an end,
Fate may have saved the best for last,
Oh, it's never too late to love, my friend.

by Yolanda Marin

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Comments (1)

Good YO.I red your poem 'On Love' / it's very nice : Yourez