A Special Privilege

This place is warm and feels like home,
Each thing reminds me of her;
I have a special privilege –
It is my job to love her

The last few days, I’ve had a cold,
She had one just last week;
The autumn season juggernaut’s
Left little time to speak

But I go in the other room,
She’s reading in our bed;
My voice is shot right now; but there’s
Not much that needs be said

There’s cold and dusk out of these doors,
The day’s last light will perish:
I have a special privilege –
For she is mine
To cherish

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s