Inky night wraps the city gloom
In bedclothes of stars and moon
And two people sit in a room
Facing fate down with visage stern
As fears, hopes, desires churn
Yet from each other they do not turn
And watching, breathing with eyes soft
Never tearing gaze to look aloft
The stare was broken when somebody laughed
In sickness, in health, in peace, in strife
In fires stoked together they forged a life
A sweetness, a comfort, though foibles rife
Is this, then, true love's veracity?
Trusting with heart's heaviest hopes?
Depending in grim times of paucity?
Hand in hand, dancing in life's tropes?
I say it is so.