Paean To My Wife

I just want to take a moment to post a sonneted paean (non-pagan) to my delectable wife on this her 28th birthday. We usually don't allow anyone else's eyes to read her annual sonnet, but this one is acceptable for the public because they need to know what a glorious woman she is . . . but you all already knew that. Here she is, sandwiched between two men who are better men because of her.


See how his tender hand coddles his lamb;
See how his tender mother coddles hers.
Her husband's gaze caresses his sweet fam-
ily. Rippling joy concentrically now stirs--
Like ancient liquid stirred with angel pow'r--
The Sheep Gate waters for the crippled soul.
This joyous flood brings beauteous buds to flow'r
And lovely wife loveliness fills to full.
The world, though, exiles women once they gain
A child because it "sucks their beauty dry."
I cannot argue. Words go down the drain.
Mere syllogisms, arguments . . . vain tries.
Your smiling flesh, caressing coffee skin,
Argues enough: Your beauty grows with kin.

Happy Birthday,

Husband