Tenth

Tenth

On the tenth of March the frost still clings,
A quiet hush beneath the leaden sky,
When shadows stretch their slender, silver wings
And whisper secrets of the days gone by.

Ten candles flicker on the cake’s soft crown,
Each flame a pulse, a hopeful, steady beat;
The laughter rings, a warm, familiar sound,
While time, like silk, slips gently through our feet.

A tenth anniversary, a milestone reached,
Two hearts entwined, their stories interlace;
Through seasons’ turn and storms that have been breached,
They find their strength in every tender grace.

So raise a cup, let crystal catch the light,
To ten— a number, simple, yet profound—
In Britain’s tongue we mark this moment’s sight,
And cherish all the joys that surround.