Wasted is nothing
the flowers, the food in the smallest of tubs
are not lost on me
I note the orderly sequence
of books on the shelves, the effortless beauty, the pace of our days
my rhythm, my song
I have come to desire the rainbow of scents
symphony, scenery, towels, the fruit in the bowl
the meaning of home
Wasted am I, in this choir of care
this backdrop of meaningful beats of your heart.
I know I'm the sock on the carpet
useless my workings, my musings projecting such plans
that get just that close...
and then somehow are gone
Hopeless I feel, and I know this horizon
was thought for a more worthy subject than me.
One more word, if I may:
I shall learn to dance - across this floor, and high on the roof.
I see this will happen - no, not a dream - I just know
and when I am able and fun again
I'd love to take you with me.