The Middle Half of the Bed

One day, when we are old and gray and spent
We’ll lay back, thinking what this bed has meant
To us—a symbol of our solemn vows,
A stage for all the wonder love allows.

Our union’s like the strong mahogany:
The structure that has wedded you to me;
The counterpane and “hunerd dollar sheets”—
Our private place for minds and flesh to meet.

I tease you for the way you stake your claim
Upon the very center of its frame,
But I vow—though it be a loss to me—
I’ll share the bed with generosity:

I won’t begrudge “your” middle half to you
As long as I’m allowed to be there, too.
Let’s promise, when our grandkids grow past little
That we’ll still meet each other in the middle.

A gift from CB to Royal

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