Much like the sapling oak, so love has grown,

More mighty with the march of passing time,

And from those branches, other acorns sown

Give living tribute to that tree sublime.

Broad limbs upraised now thank the heaven blessed,

And bask within the warmth of heaven’s light;

Nourished by sweet Earth’s eternal breast

And sky-borne tears in joy or sorrow’s rite.

Yet when I see that glory fallen down,

Now dry of sap, compounded into clay,

Where may love’s dearest vestige still be found,

Or does that verdant light just fade away?

My gaze now rests on seedlings that portend—

That love endures and shall not ever end.