knittingknots (knittingknots) wrote,

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Poem: Fortunate


He would watch her,
laughing with the sunlight in her hair,
and remember the hard days
he had longed for her voice,
the light of her smile,
the gray of her eyes,
and remember the emptiness
and know
how fortunate he was.

He would see her,
coming home, weary and worried,
after caring for a sick mother
treating an injured villager,
birthing a reluctant child,
and know
how much a difference she made,
not just to him,
but to everyone whose life she touched,
and how fortunate they all were.

But late at night,
when she lay next to him,
sometimes, she would cling closely,
as if she was afraid to find him gone in the morning,
and her lips would brush against his shoulder,
and her hands fist his hair,
and her voice would whisper words of love,
it would amaze him
that she found herself fortunate
to have given up so much
just to be with him.
Tags: poem

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