Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Labors

Everything you eat and drink should be just right, just so,
Not a grain of salt or ice cube out of place -- oh, no,
And everything you wear has to match just right,
No matter that you're just wearing it to bed at night.

Anything wrong with our place, I must mend fast.
Faucets dripping or screws finger-loose leave you aghast.
You need consoling every time you cough or sneeze.
You are the thirteenth labor of Herakles.

The trials' of Zeus' son were rewarded with fame.
The world over we still know his mispronounced name,
But for me, the gods had a greater prize in store:
Your love, and being with you, which is its own reward.

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