The May-December Romance

I am the Child of the Rose,

Romance dripping from my thorns.

I am the Child of the Wind,

Everchanging in my nature.

I  am the Child of the Moon,

For the night is my birthright

I am the Child of Love,

In a society where marriage has become

Meaningless, a disposasble commodity

For Twenty years my father and mother

No longer in the dusty pink bloom of their youth

Have chosen to grow old together

Their bonds remain unbroken

I am the Child of the Yellow Rose

Born from the evergreen leaves of their Devotion

Shaped by the whirlwind, midnight Love

Of that May-December Romance.