One pure love went searching for a mate
And found it, not by careful planning,
Nor diligent unearthing…simply fate.
To Captain and maintain control and chart a steady climb
Is what we ‘ere and swear to, but is it
And perfect love was made by this
And was not ready long before;
Through adolescence, prepubescence,
Puppy love and so much more.
Instead of wedded bliss and perfect happiness
And all things bright and nothing blue,
It quickly turned to traps and nooses,
Little lies and more excuses,
Absent plot, no fault to find,
No blame to claim, none due.
It Wasn’t Time.
And now the circle’s come to full and he can look askance
And claim it was a perfect plan and not by idle chance.
The truth is somewhere in between,
Of luck and fate and God’s will deemed.
The perfect love, found, lost, then found again
Without a single sound is mimed
And starts afresh with explanation
Needed not, nor exclamation
It Is Just Time.