Faded and chipped paint.
A little rusty around the edges.
You sound a little bit like me.
Is that why I'm drawn to thee?
But underneath the time worn surface,
there is still a vibrancy of color.
As butterflies flutter against a dazzling red,
a burst of flowers spring up from their bed.
You may be past your prime and so may I,
but we've both done much, been loved much.
For nothing new has beauty like this.
Only time can carve out such bliss.
-- By Jackie