The years have yet to touch her face,
that wide sweet mouth, those doe-brown eyes.
Of life's torments she bears scant trace.
"Forever young," this old beau sighs.

A smile erupts, I'm recognized.
She comes and takes my hand in hers.
"Is that you, Allen? I'm surprised."
Her voice! The memories it stirs.

Backwards she leans to stare at me.
"What happened to the man I knew?"
I laugh. "My dear, he's history.
His hairline shrunk, his waistline grew."

We laugh, we talk, we reminisce
as if those years had never passed.
We speak of dreams we shared and miss,
of our romance that could not last.

This chance encounter's bitter-sweet
since we can't know what might have been,
yet could life's cycle be complete
without such meetings now and then?