A Delicate Strength~

If I called her delicate
She might well give me
a dark eyed glare
and haul off and try and hit me
Then I would laugh
and push her down
Arms restrained
She would fight
Oh yes, she would fight
Tendons taunt
against muscles she
couldn’t hope to overcome
But I feel her strength
a quiet marching strength
in her soul.
It pours off her in everything
she says and does.
But she has a delicate
nature
For her heart has been strained
Pained beyond belief at times.
Yet she hangs on
through that strength at
her core
I feel it as she struggles against me
As I smile my mischievous smile
and get her to smile along with me
in that struggle
And let her win…

by Philip Wardlow