Your Ardent Idler

How else am I supposed to pass
The hours, if not here with you?
Productively? Don't make me
Laugh. That's never been my
Stock in trade. I'll write a poem,
If you'd like, a bauble for a treasure,
Or I'll fix you something nice to eat,
Though, mostly, what I offer are
These things so evident to you:
An ear, a pair of arms, these
Hours; adoration, too.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 49 times
Written on 2014-12-13 at 17:21

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