PASSION

 

When I was young, I knew the truth

that passion is reserved for youth,

and, having once become a bride

its fleshly power would soon subside

no more to foster love’s embrace,

companionship to take its place.

 

Considered now from middle age

the fires of love can ever rage

a little fuel to fan the embers

and all its past, the heart remembers.

A fire that’s made from timber dry

burns fiercer than when sap is high.

 

From speaking sometimes to the old

(at least to those who’d be so bold

to speak of things indelicate

when we assume they’re celibate)

it seems that passion haunts them still

though maybe harder to fulfil.

 

I am refreshed to realise

- although it comes as some surprise -

that passion’s folly never dies.