The Blue Bowl
All day I did the little things,
The little things that do not show;
I brought the kindling for the fire
I set the candles in a row,
I filled a bowl with marigolds,
The shallow bowl you love the best --
And made the house a pleasant place
Where weariness might take its rest.
The hours sped on, my eager feet
Could not keep pace with my desire.
So much to do, so little time!
I could not let my body tire;
Yet, when the coming of the night
Blotted the garden from my sight,
And on the narrow, graveled walks
Between the guarding flower stalks
I heard your step: I was not through
With services I meant for you.
You came into the quiet room
That glowed enchanted with the bloom
Of yellow flame. I saw your face,
Illumined by the firelit space,
Slowly grow still and comforted --
"It's good to be at home," you said.
- Blanche Bane Kuder
I love how this poem expresses my desire to create a cozy, comfortable, welcoming place for John to come home to. I miss him when we're apart and preparing for his homecoming makes the time move more swiftly. Seldom do I accomplish all I'd hoped to do before he gets home, but recently I've been trying to think of what might be more meaningful to John than a clean house or a freshly baked cake. Do I have a calm spirit? A welcoming, radiant face? A listening ear? Yes, sometimes he comes home to two fussy little ones and an overstrung wife on the verge of tears, but I want my eyes to still communicate over the din, "You are the love of my life, my heart delights in you, welcome home."
-LKH
-LKH