The Waning Years
A Sonnet
William Stapleton

Shall we not ever, once more, lovers be,
now that these waning years we’ve come to hold?
Resigned to fondness shall our passion be,
which once burned white hot, uncontrolled?

In days of care for child and livelihood
we left each other scorched, shunned tenderness.
Emotions raw from hearts of pain outstood,
‘til now, we loath begin that first caress.

But days will come when face to face,
with work and children’s cares all past,
we stand together in one place.

And given to learn and please again,
with renewed ardor, then shall we
regain the life we lost back then.