The Roses
by: Mary Oliver
One day in summer
when everything
has already been more than enough
the wild beds start
exploding open along the berm
of the sea; day after day
you sit near them; day after day
the honey keeps on coming
in the red cups and the bees
like amber drops roll
in the petals; there is no end,
believe me! to the inventions of summer,
to the happiness your body
is willing to bear.
I didn't give my wife much of a 28th anniversary. I spent most of the day writing scripts and rehearsing for a show I did tonight at the Keweenaw Storytelling Center. We did have breakfast together, and we did go for a short walk afterward, holding hands and marveling at our union.
Aside from that it was, "All work and no play make Jack a dull boy."
So, I want to take this moment to say that I'm the luckiest person alive. My spouse is infinitely patient, and her patience is matched only by her beauty. Yes, we've had some major ups and downs during our time together. Some of the downs were so down that I truly didn't think our union was going to survive.
Yet, here we are, almost 30 years later, still together and still in love. I'm not a rich person. I've tried to be the best husband and father I know how to be. Haven't always succeeded in that goal. Yet, my wife has stood by me, and I've stood by her, through all the earthquakes and roses that 30-some years can throw at a couple.
My wife is asleep now after a long day, but I just want to say one more time before midnight comes: Happy anniversary, my love.
You make Saint Marty's cup runneth over, every day.
❤️
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