Classic Poem

The sparks fly always upward, and my soul
Spreads wings to meet yours, as its one true mate,
Whether the paths be blossom-crowned or strait
Whether in gladness or in bitter dole;
No voice but yours can soothe me, or control,
No words save yours my ways illuminate;
I am content to follow, lead or wait,
My eyes fixed ever on the distant goal.

Not oak and vine are we, but lovers twain
Who face the world together side by side,
And so shall bide until our latest breath;
In storm or shine, in burning sun or rain
Through life's long ways in comradeship allied,
Not to be parted by the hands of death.