Fifty years, and you remain a child,
Infinitely valued, loved, and treasured.
Fierce winds may rip away at autumn leaves,
The kind of turn by which one's life is measured.
Yet Eden lingers, innocent and wild.
Years matter not, nor chance, nor choice, nor change.
Ever you must be a child still.
Ambition matters not, nor joy, nor grief,
Reason, passion, temper, fortune, will,
Since you know love that nothing can estrange.