The jobs, the seasons, come and go;
It’s sunny, raining, years go by.
You do not age and seem to grow
Prettier: no need to ask me why –
Beneath the pressures of Old Time,
Its distresses and concerns,
Your soul grows large and more sublime
And in your eyes and face it burns
Benevolently. So I see
My young missis by my side
Glowing. So it gives to me,
Blessed by your youth and beauty, pride.