Perhaps you know that love can carry on
through grief and solid stone, against the stars
that burn in opposition. When we’re gone
it will endure: and life will never mar
the garden we have tended deep within,
the roses we have borne in hope and grief,
the blemishes that come with petty sins,
the stellar forges made of our belief.
Perhaps you know that I will love you hence,
though maybe I, in time, shall close my wounds
for I am not so mighty. Grief relents;
like waves, it ebbs away, but ne’er concludes.
So, too, with love: infinity and more,
the feelings we release persist, endure.