My house is small.
If I buy an orange,
And bring it home in a canvas bag,
I have to decide what to get rid of;
What object it will replace.
If I lose something--
My book of Whitman poems, or
The card from my friend in New York,
It's bound to be right there,
As close as coffee to the cup.
Should the postman drop me a letter,
I must then send one out.
I dream only once each night, but richly.
There would seem to be no room
In my life,
The sun comes through my window
And seems to belong there.
What about that?
Happy St. Valentine's Day, sweetheart!