At some point, even the greatest misery begins to fade. Life, or what passes for life, plods on in it's own unending weary footsteps, and somehow we plod along with it, if we stay lucky.
We speak of course, of that most precious of treasures,That no amount of wealth can purchase,and no amount of force can secure,That does not shine as gold or jewels,yet is brighter than the rarest of stones,Is filled not with brief feeling,fleeting gestures nor empty promises,But rather of patience and kindness;of humility, hope, and perseverance,We speak, of course, of love.
The Courtship of Jo March: a variation of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women
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We speak of course, of that most precious of treasures,That no amount of wealth can purchase,and no amount of force can secure,That does not shine as gold or jewels,yet is brighter than the rarest of stones,Is filled not with brief feeling,fleeting gestures nor empty promises,But rather of patience and kindness;of humility, hope, and perseverance,We speak, of course, of love.
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