From Breakfast to Night-time Nibbles

The silence in relationships of love

Is often made of “Yes” and “Yes.”  It comes

From comfort in a surety above

The early stages framed by thrills.  Jazz drums

Ain’t needed.  Just the snare drum’s brushes’ beat,

Not even noticed, is enough.  One makes

The evening meal, some soup, no sirloin meat,

Just crackers followed by some little cakes

Like Battenburgs and that is plenty for

The steady days and nights, no songs required,

No arias.  You each put in your oar

And paddle straight.  There’s much to be admired.

  If he at breakfast isn’t much a man

    Of words, the sonnet still can rhyme and scan.

~ Phillip Whidden