I love a woman strong and true,

who gives her love without reserve.

She stands beside me, right or wrong

and helps when feeble plans go sour.

 

Our years together seem so short.

Yet all my real life she’s been there.

To play, to share, to love and bear,

the episodes of married life.

 

Our children are her prismed light.

Each different, yet a colour pure.

My part was just to be the lens,

hers to focus the spectrum’s fire.

 

How deep can love like this be felt?

How can one really tell its force?

How seldom do we state our love?

How stupid is our selfish pride?

 

I find it hard to starte my love.

It will not pass my quivering lips.

Yet deep inside my trembling heart,

My love grows stronger by the hour.

David Garlick, Victoria, May, 1986