The landmark

"The landmark

You bought me earrings and necklaces, a bracelet and rings,

and a fine leather box with velvet compartments

to keep your pleasures in;

quality pays.

And scarves and bags and dresses and belts

for birthdays and anniversaries and other occasions

and for no special reason at all.

But when Daniel was born you gave

me a gift,

a book on Henry Moore’s sculpture;

it could not adorn me,

meant nothing to you

and I felt that perhaps there was hope after all

for you and for me and for us.

Daniel’s now ten and I treasure that landmark

and also the scrap of old Persian silk

dark browns and blues and darned at the back

you gave me last birthday but one.

Could it be, as you claim, that you love and accept me

while I

still nag?"