bubble

I hear you in the other room

Your voice reminds me of your smile

It chases off my after-gloom

As I remember in a while

You will come out and sit with me

As we companionably read

Beside the dog, and drink our tea.

I think of this with utter greed.

There is no joy I wish for more

No comfort higher, greater grace

Than listening to our dog snore

While looking at your smiling face

Nose deep inside an open book

All unaware each time I look.

O Beautiful

I never understood the waves before;

It always seemed a silly little song.

To speak of waves of grain? It must be wrong.

The water always seemed to me much more

Than any field could be. How could it store

The slightest sense of surge, to bear along

A boat, and break? A farm is strong,

But like a wall, not like a wave, I swore.

Yet here, as night casts shadows on the snow

The wheat (unwaving yet, as it must grow)

Reminds me of the ocean rippling free

No waves as yet, but still an energy

That my sea-sense already seems to know

And recognizes past solidity.