Like I Do

She doesn't know
And maybe she isn't to blame

She doesn't know him like I do

Has she seen him in front of a crowd?
Drunk on moonshine
Calling out loudly
Some joke about
His pet chicken
As the fire
Rages

I reckon not.

Has she seen him in the morning,
The way he is without his coffee
Light ever shining in his eyes
Like the sun
On water

Has she seen the sunrise
on his broad shoulders
As he spills from
A hammock nest
Deep in the woods
Wild and untamed

Perhaps

Has she taken in his scent
Or felt his protection
Or been guided down
A mighty river
Or led up a rugged path
Or felt the warmth of his soul
And the goodness of his heart

I am sure she has
In some sort of way

But
She doesn't know
And I won't be the one to tell her

That the more she thinks
"He's the one"
That the more they say
"He's a keeper"
The less he wants to be kept

She doesn't know

Saint Christopher,
His patron saint
A man of many travels

She doesn't know him like I do

She is what he thinks he should want

I was what he knew to be true

She is what he thinks he should want

But
She doesn't know
She is just a thought
A passing glance at a settled life
But I know
I know
I know

He is not that kind of man

She doesn't know

Reviews

[Robert Haigh]

When a woman is besotted by a man like that she cannot be told that 'he' is not the one (not with any kind of permanence, anyway). She will have to learn the truth through experience, along with the hurt. Words from one who has 'been there' are bound to fall on deaf ears, I would say. Whether this is fiction or from real life experience, it has a ring of truth to it. A powerful piece, Lydia! ~Robert~