Like leaning bikes against the unused door,
Their wheels immobile, chains now brown with rust,
Decay awaits the things a man works for
That lay untouched and thick with grimy dust.
We think to leave it be would keep it well,
Away from operating stress and strain.
Alas, without the forces that compel
The heart no tender love could thus remain.
It takes one sight to miss you all the more,
A fleeting moment by your side to pain me,
But better that your memory I store
To push me down our faithful path and train me.
Propinquity and paradox must meet
If future fruitfulness should be as sweet.