Often a flame burns bright, busting in air
It sputters and so gasps for more and more;
Its luminescence seems without compare,
And heat appears from tip to twisting core.
But as each outburst leaps into being,
The flame grows slowly weaker every time,
Each particle flutters, wants to be fleeing,
And kills the fire soon after its prime.
My love holds no such dangerous passion:
It shall not burn less brightly any day,
And will continue on in loyal fashion
Forever in its so consistent way.
As days go by, I also guarantee,
My love will grow to limitless degrees.
July 18
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