|Will you marry me…?|
I love the way you hold my hands- so nice ‘n soft ‘n slow.
Your roughened thumbs caress my skin still smooth, ‘n youthful too.
But beauty fades, ‘n passion dims; Time weathers every hand.
These sweet, soft hands, so tender now one day shall wrinkled be.
So will you, many years from now still take my hands in yours?
Will you, in years to come, allow my hands to creep to yours?
I know you will, those years from now- my hands shall steal to yours.
For love is blind ‘n always fair- it nourishes, ‘n grows.
So stay with me, ‘n hold my hands until they’re tanned ‘n truly creased.
Stay with me, ‘n tell me true: Love, will you marry me…?