We know a love at ease has not grown old,
A newborn caterpillar, still unwise.
In our dreams so often we've been told
About a safe cocoon in which it lies.
In early days love's cradle gently swings,
Naive and tender is it in its youth.
It merely knows of sweet, delightful things,
A young and pretty flame lit in its truth.
So comes the dreadful day when love has grown.
The peaceful home once safe is now a jail.
So happens that love flies, its course unknown,
Into an early spring of nightingale.
When age intrudes love's on the verge of tears,
In its simplest form love's young in years.
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