Howard Firkin
Adored wife and the armour that I wear,
forgive the brevity of this. You know
my words, you know how all the old songs go:
their words are mine. Sing them and I am there.
Kiss both our sons: the born; the yet to be.
Adored wife, as I write, I feel you here.
When I am tired (as I am tonight),
my memories of you are new, are foresight,
a dream, as fresh as water and as clear.
I sleep with you tonight, as you with me.
One day we’ll work out how to measure time
that isn’t meaningless: the time I spend
with you in bed, in thought, in dreams, in rhyme.
Until that time, unmeasured, time can’t end.
