Happy is he who finds his love, Soaring like a bird above into his heart opened wide, and walking by him side by side. Love is cold if not true! A winter's storm through and through, Love is treasured as fine as gold, and groes more strong by growing old. Lovelights the face in its fairest hour. Shinning bright like a golden flower, Love it's kisses that linger long, bind to the heart when growing strong. When love it's light blossoms over, the man who finds it like a four leaf clover. How lucky is he his pot of gold. WALKING TOGETHER AND GROWING OLD...
