When the rest of life is through:
Not the fleeting dreams,
Nor the moments full of rush—
The finest thing I’ve ever done
Is simply loving you.
Not all the praise or pride,
Nor what I thought I should pursue,
Not the heights I climbed,
Or the battles I thought I’d win—
But those gentle mornings
Spent quietly loving you.
And when the years dissolve to shadows,
And my steps slow in their pace,
I’ll remember not my triumphs,
But the love that filled this space.
No grand pursuit, no frantic chase,
No victory could hold its hue,
For the brightest part of all my days
Was simply loving you.
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