To My Busy, Helpful Wife Poem by Robert Melliard

When I get home, I drink some tea
and write some would-be poetry
about my plans to change -
think more of others' needs.

Then you come back, weighed down
with bags of food you've bought,
and soon cook dinner for us all.
What clearer case of helpfulness than yours?

Perhaps I should stop trying to be deep
and follow your example - just be kind.
Or will someone, somewhere, need
these poems - this apparent waste of time?