Miss You Dear Husband!!
Love the Man!
Poetry Dedicated to my Dearest Husband
To say I miss my husband is an understatement. We’ve been apart now for nearly 2 months and at this stage in our relationship we both feel fairly comfortable about it. Not happy, but comfortable. Its not forever and the time is going fast enough…………….
But I do miss him so! All those little things that make him what he is I miss. From his silly songs and poetry in the morning, to losing his keys when we go out - I miss his company; his cheerfulness; his wit; his thoughtfulness; his buffoonery; his calmness; his spirit; his overwhelming kindness; his strength and courage; his warmth; his strong arms around me; his lovely kisses; his dear face. Everything about him I miss terribly.
But the reason is a simple enough and a need that neither of us could have foreseen when we pulled up our roots and moved to Thailand, ostensibly to retire in 2006. But like so many people in the past couple of years, we were hit badly by the recession. We’ve endeavored to make the both ends meet but last year it became apparent that we needed to do something drastic! ‘Needs must where the devil drives’ as the saying goes, and to make our dwindling finances go a little further we both decided to return to work. I, to teaching and he, back to the farming that he’d worked at all his life. Fortunately, I could do the teaching in Thailand, but it turned out to be a very unprofitable venture, so beware all you would-be teachers, if you’re over 60 you will not get that coveted work permit. And no-one will tell you either.
And so the Dearly Beloved decided that a couple more years of harvesting would not go amiss and would fill the coffers adequately. As ever, we knew the hours would be long, but it was summer so what the heck, he was a strong guy and not of retiring age officially, so a few more months on the treadmill would be okay.
Now I’m sitting here and writing him love letters, sending emails, texting and sending cards; in fact, generally acting like a love-sick youngster. I’m reading poetry and playing music I’ve not heard for at least 20 years, and in the process crying my heart out at all the pent-up emotions they’re engendering! And I’m loving it! Its put a whole new slant on life and made me think outside the box again. Mother Nature obviously thought I was getting far too complacent and needed a good kick on the butt! It just amazes me that I’m supposed to be a mature old girl of some 66 years, not 26. It’s a real lesson in life that no matter what you plan for, life has a way of making a complete nonsense of it! It makes you think laterally once more. Problems to solve and a million possible answers. Isn’t it exciting! Take your pick but start getting wise again! And from this experience I conclude that this is good for all of us oldies, otherwise we’d just sit and vegetate come retirement, and that isn’t good for anyone.
There are so many great love poems from so many great poets but here are just a couple. I’ve dedicated them to the ‘Old Guy’ out there working away on his tractor. It’ll soon be time to come home!
The first one is by that wonderful poetess, Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 – 1861)
"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
and my second choice..............
Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her
by Christopher Brennan
If questioning would make us wise
No eyes would ever gaze in eyes;
If all our tale were told in speech
No mouths would wander each to each.
Were spirits free from mortal mesh
And love not bound in hearts of flesh
No aching breasts would yearn to meet
And find their ecstasy complete.
For who is there that lives and knows
The secret powers by which he grows?
Were knowledge all, what were our need
To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?
Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why"
I love you now until I die.
For I must love because I live
And life in me is what you give.
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