I Love You Anne

I love you Anne though forty years have flown
And in that time I’ve heard no word of you.
The naive child is to the woman grown
And by cold calculation fifty two.
The Sylph of youth long fled, the grey now near.
Married, I assume. Mother? Grandmother?
But still the girl I loved and love, revere.
Innate virtue life’s cares cannot smother.
A callow youth, in lodgings, found a friend.
A little sister of whom he grew fond.
And though their closeness danger might portend.
Philea and not Eros was the bond.
A sweet out-going child so you began.
Goodness personified. I love you Anne.