You will, young man, on the merry-go-round
Of life sometime catch the brass ring,

The answer, clear as the midnight sky:
"Love is the most precious thing,"

Of all the girls in all the world
She'll suddenly seem to find you,

The serendipity of meeting thus --
Be it Casablanca or Timbuktu

Will convince you that you yourself did the finding --
Not the other way 'round,

A whisper in your ear will say, "This is the one"
In spite of a lack of sound,

Before you're used to being young
You'll find yourself starting to mellow --

Maybe wonder if the word, "callow" applied
To you as a youngish fellow,

Whence came this Golden Wedding card? --
Youth seems but a fortnight ago,

A boy just called me "Great-Granddad" --
Where did the fifty years go?

by D. Edgar Murray 01/15/2001.