My Better Part
I put the last touches on my masterpiece,
And I proudly dropped it in his lap.
“Be honest and tell me, what you really think.”
But he looked like a mouse in a trap!
My number one critic, this man I trust most,
Really dreads giving me these reviews.
He makes his appraisals while walking on egg shells,
For he knows just how easily I bruise.
I could tell by the way he kept scanning the text,
And I knew he was just buying time.
His eyebrows were raised; he kept clearing his throat,
As he questioned the meaning and rhyme.
He cautiously offered a comment or two;
I was starting to make my defense.
But I stopped and I looked in his tender blue eyes,
And I quieted my arguments.
I went back to my office and scribbled and scratched.
There’s no doubt he was right all along.
I swallowed my pride and rewrote half the text,
For the truth is, he’s never been wrong!
I finally was learning to heed his advice,
And accept the great gift of his heart.
He gently critiques, blending love with the truth.
He’s my husband and my better part.
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