"I was young once, too,"
I tell her.
But she stares at me,
as if I sprang, fully-formed
and middle-aged,
from the head of Zeus.
How can I possibly understand
true love?
So I turn to You who taught me
the meaning of the word.

Please—
let her know real love
when she sees it,
and not mistake it
for something less.
Let her love be given
only to those who are worthy.
Help her as she struggles
through the growing pains of love,
the arguments, the petty nuisances.

May young love grow
like a plant firmly rooted,
reaching to the sun
and touching, at last, You.