life with you: measured in decades

I'll live with you and keep you safe in our twenties, in fast embrace the age of great romantic love we'll be lost to all but the world in ourselves, and our new comedy. It will be hard, this stage of life I'll come and go but you must know I will always return the dawn; there may be nights with emptiness but the morning will bring fullness. And when the thirties make their round we'll be together, just like you said: "What if it rains way too hard?" Then I'll make you a promise now, I can't always be your bright sun but I can be your big umbrella. Forties weren't quite the hilltop we envisioned, troubles are common but it's nothing to our persistent love, nothing to the business done. We can see the pressing darkness closing in up ahead; lonely, no, don't be, not here, not ever. The fifties are the arrogance of old age, once when we were young we thought we'd never be old only together the both of us; now we're timeless and wizened gray - and our kids tell us how to save the day. I told you the sixties would come. You didn't believe me: they're here. Long and warm sometimes but still not alone; can you believe that love of ours was meant to last the years? I knew it - I love you so much and here's the thing, we're past halfway and I'll still love you forever. If I said it once don't expect me to say it again: seventy sucks. My complexion darkens the day when it hits my ever-thoughtful face. What is sunlight to an ageing mind, when your beauty grows with the small dusk and the moon is the only light left in the sky. Eighties, nineties . . . . one hundred? Who really wants to live that long? Bring on eternity.