sonnet xviii

my morning offices complete,
i found him standing, clear and tall;
he asked what i would like to eat—
(my heart was singing—quiet, small.)

“your smile is a gift,” he said—
he never guessed which words to say—
i longed for him to stroke my head:
(“it all will come, in time—one day.”)

we counted days—we counted years—
we lived, and loved-and-lost, and thought;
we grew and grovelled, faced our fears,
(we made assays that came to naught.)

“...and when i come this way, again—
we’ll do the maths together, then.”