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

Simply Time?

And perfect love was made by this

And was not ready long before;

Through adolescence, prepubescence,

Puppy love and so much more.

And Time.

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.

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