Following is what I think is an appropriate poem for where we (my husband and I) are today

A Poem by William Butler Yeats. A leading Irish poet of the 19th/20th century. 1865-1939

When you are old and and gray and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, pull out this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moment of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur a little sadly how love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars