While going through some old letters yesterday I found this
sonnet I'd written a long time ago.
My love for you is such a quiet thing.
As calm and grave as winter's first twilight.
Serene and cool as winter's longest night.
It lacks the sudden breathlessness of spring.
My love for you is such a timeless thing.
Unlike young birds in helter-skelter flight,
That come in May, then disappear from sight,
My love was born of winter, not of spring.
No burning passion sets my heart aglow.
There is no rapture or love's doubting fear.
And yet the only happiness I know
Is peace I feel whenever you are near
For then I see, as clear as winter skies,
Eternity reflected in your eyes.