Once I gazed into her eyes,
saw hers sparkling back at mine
-- like a trophy blinking brightly,
they would shine.
Gradually her eyes grew distant,
they would wander far and wide,
even though mine stayed consistent
at her side.
Gradually her eyes grew colder
bit by bit they lost their will;
even though mine grow still older,
hers are still.
Even though they wandered from me,
and then died, still are they mine:
in the night-sky, twinkling slightly,
they still shine.