I have a man who wakes with me. His face is strong and sure. His work is hard, and so his limbs. At night, he makes me purr. We strolled one day in snowy wood, Our quiet home not quite in view, Its curl of smoke and dormered roof, Watched us talk, as we often do. My thoughts began on all we’d done— Left California on a dream, a whim, Built house and farm in Tennessee. Now all complete, we’re settled in. Some fond regrets I entertained, Of city glitz, rewarding work. With happiness and pride to spare, I could not feel a hurt. Green hills peered down on moving dots. Cow tracks meandered toward the spring, Out of sunshine, into shade, and as our feet, Returned to where the grass begins. A rabbit darted down a hole, And with it, every trace of sadness. This farm and man, I thought sincerely, Must be heaven’s better—gladness. “Now tell me, would you rather be,” I said, and took him by the arm, “In California’s office scene, Or here with me upon on this farm?” With careless eyes he looked at me, While still I held his lumpy arm, And said, “In California I’d rather be,” Then turned and led me on. “Now you’re kidding, I know you are,” And tugged his arm to make him pay. But as he trudged past hickory, oak, Said, “Do you remember Sally Faye?” “Of course I do, she came to visit, That boyfriend with her too.” Then he looked at me and said, “Remember the trip I made in June?” Then my man his tongue unlocked, And eased his mind with each reply. The farm turned gray, the house fell down, And all I said was, “Why?” For better lore I seldom yearn, And think of him in little pains. Without his lesson here today, I’d moan of toothache in the rain.