Do you remember
the good day
we had out of the year?
When the rain let up
like the trumpet player
who took a deep breath.
Do you remember
how you felt in my arms,
wrapped up tight,
crying lazy like a baby,
left alone in her crib?
But I’m still there
with you
at the top of the day,
holding you like blankets
on a crisp September eve.
Did you know I would have
given up heaven
for this day?
And I still would
given the chance to,
by May.
But like a servant,
I got up
to make you some eggs.
Were they worth it?
Were they worth it?
Were they cooked the right way?
And was the coffee
black enough to start out your day?
I sure do hope so—
because I love you
more than getting paid.

written on 09/28/2010 by: Matt Kane