My romantic tendencies, I fear,
My sweet nothings, my poetry and all my lunacies,
My elaborate displays of affection; these tendencies,
They wither and die with every passing year,
If I forget to love, my love, if I,
Ignore the gentle tug of flair and flattery, if,
Our love grows stale and our embrace stiff,
Weep not, my love; this is not goodbye.
My romantic tendencies, they wane and flicker,
But my love, love, is as eternal as it is stronger.