It is not what you do best
That places you first
In the closet of my treasurable thoughts
Virtues too many to innumerate
Like beads of morning dew
On the green leaves
Of a cloudless Morrow’s Dawn
On the fleshy petals
Of morning blossoms
Yet with all those virtues
You may lose me
To the craziest distraction
That may seduce the eye
Yes my regard for you
May take flight on the wings
Of adventurous thoughts
Or evaporate with loud hisses
Like sprinkles of rainwater
On hot desert rocks
Or scatter like chaff
Blasted by a violent wind
It is indeed your little errors
That keep you foregrounded
In my thoughts
All-day, all night, all my life
A sudden thought
About your inabilities
Inculcating a sense of responsibility
Hotter than molten lava
In my heart, my mind, my soul
Your tendency to forget
That makes you the target
Of dangerous characters
Like an exposed worm
In the eye of a scavenging bird
Makes me the armour
That protects you.
Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash
