Hopeful

Tired eyes
we sheltered together
from the storm
raging outside.
Tell-tale signs
of our age, dark hairs
sprout from your strong chest
They whisper that
we're growing up
Like fresh blades of grass, 
they show the everchanging seasons
we live through
And give me hope
that we will bloom,
rich with the piquancy of all
our emotions
Flushed by the rose blushes of youth
We wax and wane.