Gift of youth

I find my soul is sensitive, like yours,

Indeed, although there is one-no more think I

One generation between yours and mine,

Our thoughts fly crisply through the air

And meet, purified, as one.

And our first union

Is the making of this stamp.

The one redeeming grace on any paper-tax

Shall be your face. And mine

The soul behind it all, worshipful

Of nature for her gift of youth

And beauty to our earth.