I know a man who is hen-pecked,
but he doesn’t feel that way.
He thinks he’s the world’s luckiest
rooster, and his life is all play.
He cooks most of the day’s meals
and does all the home’s main chores,
and doesn’t care if his wife ignores him
… while she lounges around and snores.
Most of us, however, face a
dilemma we should now discuss:
Is it better to love a partner
more --- or less -- than they love us?
Or should we admit that, yes,
we made a huge mistake, and wait
patiently for someone with whom
we enjoy equal give and take?
Love tugs at the old heartstrings,
and it is hard to bring to heel.
It’s a light glowing in the dark,
a dream that doesn’t appear real.
They talk about a “labor of love”,
because it requires a lot of work.
You have to show up each morning
and commit to not being a jerk.
Love is never having to say
you’re sorry. But it doesn’t last
long if you don’t apologize
at least every other breakfast.
Love is the life pairing of geese;
it’s the way out of a dense fog.
But no one can truly understand
love who does not own a dog.