I remember feeding you and talking, <br />in the silence that the stroke <br />left you for speech, trying to tell you <br />what I had tried for decades <br />to put in words: <br />you're my sweet treasure, you're the Gift <br />Love gave to me, and in this tiny room, <br />with nothing to show for hope, <br />the only faith of Man <br />expressed in Food Stamps, <br />as I bathe you, and for you, open the window <br />to birdsong, and fresh, spring air, <br />no man's riches compare with mine. <br /> <br />It was so hard on you; <br />so little you could give, <br />save what you did: <br />trying to start all over, <br />willing to learn how to kiss me again. <br />When you stopped breathing, <br />you gave that little gasp <br />as if at something just revealed, <br />and though I found your heartbeat gone <br />and was left there in the cold, <br />begging with my fist, I still remember <br />what you told me of something just revealed. <br /> <br />The day we met, <br />we chose us, each, the other: <br />when you woke, bleeding in your brain, <br />and the doctors and the nurses said <br />you would not think again, <br />I told you what I tell you now: <br />I will not leave you, <br />and where you go <br />I will follow: <br />you're my sweet treasure, <br />you're the Gift <br />Love gives to me.<br /><br />John Libertus<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-song-of-the-unicorn/
