Just This Once For You, And Only You

     A day is only little,
People walk, talk, eat and contemplate,
     quicken expectations or, hang every
moment on a hopeful obsession,

A day, gathers dust in Africa,
     tethers homes of Eskimo within
snow-like cocoons of inner sanctuary,
     where the ruddy glow of smiling
children quickens my envy – heart,

A day, can see a mountain shadow -
     or mourned for loss of temper that
has the climber – glinted eye,

     a day………….do you not yet know I am in love with you!

A day, can tend a jug be filled with water
     from a brook that never loses memory or
journey, that feeds a village ‘kind.’

     How kind a benevolent can be,
where still there are those humbled by
their richness that never owns a purse,
     humbled yet upon an ownership of
          Life!

     I see the day, and if said glinted eye remains,
then upon the tallest you may find me seized
upon the view of blues and greens and kindred kind -
that do upon their best;– each second a memory in
movement that never ever loses pace.

A day, is little to do but make the change on
     ‘every,’
          every hour to fill the album with
all content owned by love,

     ‘but the night my heart, the night my golded fascination -
for abrupt the chest did swell -
     with pride for longer than I ventured;
          the night is vast and empty without you here within my arms.'

Michael J Waite 15th of January 2022. Dedicated to my wife Nomalungelo Zinhle………….. I love you.

Bottle of wine and a warm hearth, just for effect.

xxx