I never asked for diamonds, nor did you;
We felt that things intangible were more,
So much more worth the trouble of pursuit
Than all the spendy things that people hoard.
And yet despite all this—and it’s held true
Through many years together on the trail—
You give me diamonds in their multitudes:
Not rocks—despite their twinkle dead as nails—
But living diamonds, warm and lovely things,
As generous and vital as the rain,
And just as full of rainbows. There’s no ring
Or necklace I could value like these plain
And pleasing drops of sweat that come to grace
Your brow and luminate your much-loved face.