TO A PATIENT WIFE
Remorse descends upon me now
As I recall our marriage vow,
And think of things I did not do
That might have lessened toil for you.
I never learned to grow a flower I never learned to make a fire,
To fix the roof or hang a door
To sharpen knives or sweep the floor.
Your food delights I never earned,
The kitchen tasks I always spurned;
Too busy, always, screens to mend,
Instead poor rimes and prose I penned.
The babies' shoes I never tied,
I only shared with you our pride
In things they did I'd never taught.
Unearned, the happiness they brought.
Now, two grandbabies, growing fast,
Will ask that you appraise ray past -
Be tender, dear, my faults conceal, Make artificial virtues real.
1 could have learned, had I not known One art, for which I'm famed alone;
You can be sure that loving you
I never learned - I always knew.
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