Happy Tenth! A milestone that seems
As natural as stones upon a hill,
Placed by wind and rain and swollen streams
Plunging down to work their wayward will.
Yet our will alone has placed this stele
That stands amid the wilderness of time,
Each choosing each each day that we might feel
Nearer to a grace we can't define.
The loves that last are cultivated flowers:
Half pure mystery, half purely ours.