Perfect Companion

I call out as my heart grows faint,

From the ends of the earth I call.

And he comes, my beloved companion

Comes to my side.

This time, he sits with me and leans close.

He gently holds my right hand

In between both of his,

And I feel the calluses on his fingers

Hard-earned from his days spent wood-working.


I find great comfort in my time with him,

Comfort enough to find ease and cry.

My tears rush quickly, pouring out with great fervor

And some of them get caught in his hair,

But he doesn’t mind.

His hair is long, longer even than mine.

He is the sort that Grandmother

Would call a “Hippie.”

But as my tears flow, he doesn’t complain.

He just holds my hand and shares with me

The warmth of his heart.


Sometimes I don’t cry, and we just sit

Together, quietly thanking one another

For giving their love.

And sometimes I am already crying

And he comes and puts me on his shoulders,

Carrying me through my day,

The scent of fish and saltwater rubbing

Off of his robe and onto

My skin.

And he carries me until my eyes are dry,

Until my legs are stronger and I

Remember to laugh.

Or sometimes we talk about the troubles

Of this world, or about the beauty

Around us, or we dance together

Under the moonlight

Before he tucks me in to bed.


He always comes when I call out to him.

But in every moment, in those when I do not call,

I have this strong sense

That he is there beside me.


They say that when you are in love,

You are never alone in spirit.

And oh, I love my Jesus

And HE loves me.



A poem by T. LaReveur

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