It is not yet our time
To wither with the ages
Torn to be alone
As waning halves

Our true demise
Is far from us
A phantom in the dark
Swift and cold

We’ll embrace through it all
Coiled to brave the end
Wise in our years
And kept in our ailing frames

Those crumbling years
Are beyond our exuberance
Its shadows kept at bay
With every,
Tender movement of affection