If our marriage were a copper coin
Minted seven years ago and slipped
Into God’s coin-purse for a rainy day,
Would it begin to tarnish or lose its shine,
Hidden there among God’s silver and gold?
Would our palms begin to itch to hold
That coin, to drop it in a wishing well
Of vanity, our lost youth slipping away?
Nay, let’s let it not be so, my dear,
Let’s float our copper canoe down Copper River
Past mysterious salmon struggling to spawn.
Let’s count our copper days and let
Them shine again like the first day,
Like that copper sun rising at dawn.
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