The World’s Supply

 

The world’s supply of you is mine and though

I love to know that you were out and heard,

were seen by all the world, when you return

I kiss you welcome but make my heart grow cold,

thus freezing sense to quietly discern

if glory of the world has left a glow

that tells me in your secret soul you yearn

to be world’s captive and with bravado,

give over to the ever hungry Show.

 

Oh jealous eye and heart! Again I learn

to know how love returns beyond all measure,

and as the evening grows I see with pleasure

the only thing so rare there is but one,

sits playing scrabble with a youngest son.

 

just a word-