Again she rose at dawn, <br />she always was the one <br />who had the fortitude <br />to rise and shine, at six <br />as if it were required, by <br />unwritten rules of married life. <br /> <br />A mass of white gray hair <br />confronted her as a reflection <br />of age and life's shenanigans, <br />there would be double doses of <br />rejuvenating Henna, soon. <br /> <br />She heard his plaintiff snore, <br />and glanced but briefly <br />into the room where he would stay <br />until enticed by odours of Moccona. <br /> <br />She turned and covered now <br />his bony foot, it must be cold <br />not ready for the day's routine. <br />Some fifty years had come and gone, <br />each morning it had been, <br />by order of some universal force <br />the same damn foot that peeked. <br /> <br />She'd never failed to mother it, <br />regardless of the season <br />and of his depth of sleep. <br />But always with a tiny, wicked smile.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-bony-foot/
