It’s June again,
sweet young girls in cotton dresses,
church bells chime at dinner hour,
jonquils lifting up their trumpets,

and you and I,
slipping into the winter of our marriage,
the cold shoulder and frozen stare,

I watch you undress and ready for bed,
slower, yes, and battle-scarred, but beautiful,
as defined by these eyes
with their softening focus,

and think how fortunate I am
to be spending June again
with you.