I look at my husband over in his chair, so portly and kind with his graying hair
 The lines on his face so gently etched,
If I was a painter I would capture it on sketch.
The lines on his brow put there over the years,
If I could, I'd wash them away with my tears. 
He's so strong in his kind gentle way,
His strength is like salve on the hurts of the day. 
He's known all over for his honest and truth,
His customer's say, they need no proof of his charges to them,
His word it is true, they know if they don't call him
That day they will rue.
He's up around five, his own breakfast he gets,
Then its fires to build, to keep the house cozy,
The heat its turned on, then the coffee is made.
I hear from my den, cup of coffee my friend?
He always does whatever he can.
The problems we've conquered, the troubles we've had,
Just binds us together, me and my man.
The house is so empty now, off to work he has gone.
He works from sunset to sundown. How does he do it, how?
It's getting late now, the day it has passed.
I look for his van, to hear that safe sound,
My heart is starting to pound.
I wonder if all is well.
Is he safe and sound.
What's that I hear, that soft purring sound
That vibrates on the ground.
I stop and I listen, I hear the door open
I see his dear face.
He's tired and worn but thank God he is safe.
How was your day, he askes with a smile.
I'm sorry I'm late but I was discussing my rates.
I feel safe and secure, my husband is home.
The dog looks up and drops his bone.
Yes there's time for a pat from his master so dear.
I thank God again, my dear husband is near.

By Marjory Sturgeon - Summer 1993