Roses may be bloody red and violets may be blue,
These, though, simply underscore impermanence in hue.
Roses can be grown in shades of yellow, pink, and white;
And violet's purple, is it not--a separate shade of light.

The earth may shake, and doing so, break up the ground at hand;
Never constant could one call the nature of the land.
Mountains crumble, trees are felled--and what, then, of the sky?
All too quickly marred by people, doomed by them to die.

The Sun will someday overgrow and vanish into dust;
A microcosm of the way that our Universe must.
All evidence suggests that nothing's sturdy as it seems;
The passing time slays everything, so too our human dreams.

I cry to think our love will also break as time drifts past
That something now so strong is doomed to sputter out, not last.
I'm praying, though, until the day the Universe burns out
Our souls might live together and our love be without doubt.