Oreha97

Ours is not made of roses and candles Or daydreams dipped in sunset's gold. Ours is not spun of fairytale's flax Or starry gazes to fix and hold. For candlelight flickers and roses wither And dreams, however sweet, will yield to dawn. No. Ours is the unromantic romance. Sprawling, stubborn, untidy, Covered in bruises and grass stains. But A soft and subtle warmth creeps in, Slowly, To temper the rough edges. We swallow back fear to taste the change; And with clouts and embraces applied when necessary, We steer our friendship into deeper waters For ours is the journey Comprised of pain and promises, Tears and joys, Argument