Shall I Read You a Peom?

And wielding words of wisdom thus

Lift you to a more aesthetic plane?

Your eyes say "I'm sorry,

I've got some work to do.

But you were sweet to try."

Then a painting shall I make

With scapes so grand and colors broad

To hie you hence from mundane vistas 'round.

You sniff and say

"Darn it, I think I'm catching a cold."

Then the breath of Hippocrates

I will call forth and channel some dread spirit

To conjure for you draughts of healing balm.

You smile and say

"Honey, could you let me finish this--in quiet?"

And as lofty words come fill my plans

For what shall come and fill the air

My lips part and utter the truly wise:

"I'll go make you some tea."

And you smile and say "Thank you."