I am not much of a romantic. I believe love is to do with things other than red roses and all that commercial stuff, like having a cup of tea brought to my bedside every day, or someone giving me a hug or an unexpected bunch of flowers, a piece of chocolate shared or a thoughtful email froma friend. I have been married to the same wonderful person for 34 and a half years today. This poem is for him.
Tea is a hug in a china mug
hot and strong, without sugar
and only the merest whisper of milk.
First thing in the morning
it is the kiss for sleeping beauty
brought to the bedside as the sky warms up.
It can be dressed in finer clothes
but the everyday chipped mug,
after all these years, is enough for me.