No, this love will never change, just like
that armored garden statue, found upon
a solid block, bound firm in stance, no chance
of wayward gaze or heart, toward his angel
fixed divinely, eyes to eyes, this living maze
of blossoms, fountains, vines, leaves, and trees,
surrounding us, more likelier to lapse
as seasons trade their tales then fade as fast
all while my hands retain their silent prayer
this adoration always staying there
through lightning, ice, floods and drought, the worst
of nature's strains in vain to test the truth
of every thought or word I have professed.
No, this love shall not diverge or part;
like sculptures, it endures as timeless art.