bird by bird

by e e cummings it may not always be so; and i say that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch his heart, as mine in time not far away; if on another's face your sweet hair lay in such a silence as i know, or such great writhing words as, uttering overmuch, stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; if this should be, i say if this should be— you of my heart, send me a little word; that i may go unto him, and take his hands, saying, Accept all happiness from me. Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

He is calculated And considers maneuvers. He counts letters And squares methodically. It is silent While I wait. On the other side Of the table, My tiles are Ready to play. He has letters To make words, But he hesitates To commit. It is silent While I wait. Finally with defeat, He lays down letters. "DIAPER" For 10 points. Without pause, I place my tiles The move I had been Waiting to make. His turn again. And his scrutiny Of the game board Resumes. This is us now, Our life. He is irresolute.  I am ready. In the end, He wins the game. But it's more fun To play my way.