My Promise
I’m not a flower child,
neither a sage, poet or bard.
I wont feed you with guile
or hit you hard
with the absurd,
laced between sweet word.
I’ll not promise you an hour
and then give only a minute,
letting precious love go sour….
reaching the limit,
disposing love,
much as an ill fitting glove.
I promise to give my all.
If you need me, I stand
within reach of your call,
on demand,
loved, free,
doing my best to agree.
I’m not a flower child,
neither a sage, poet or bard.
No sweet words sugar piled.
Old and charred,
my life…
the pleasure of my wife.
© Dec 2010 Charles Henderson
For Paula's -Just poetry contest 5th place
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