Good Wife
Good wife, sweet as the woodland harebell, rare as the Orkney Primrose
A fountain of wonderment, beauty, and perpetual awareness
On this day, and in this strong voice, I speak as my forefathers spoke
Indeed, how the honeyed words shall drip from my mind to the page
For the truth of a virtuous heart laid bare cannot be confused nor led astray
Life stages bring revelations, and those revelations reveal the truest facts
If I was but a wee lad, I would carve your name in the bark of the elder tree
So that the strong roots may drink it down deep into the very core of the earth
And the stout branches might carry it skyward, forever drenched in sunlight
The Scottish winds will know of you, whispering your name in passing
Standing stones, gathered in great circles shall too be said to remember
That my love for you has endured for eternity and these bodies are but temporary
If I was a were a Chief or the son of a Chief, I would lift my voice by the great fires
Taking my place nearest to the great flames, where the listening was always
Boldy speaking as men once did when stars were gods and stones held power
With every man present, I would sing of your beauty long into the night
Each tree would bend to listen, and moon would rise just to hear my words
Your eyes, forever in their clarity, hold more than the green of the fields
Tis true, they hold the mystery of the first dawn, when light broke upon the world
Ancient wonders giveth meaning to those who shared footfalls and lodging
For to look into them, even for a brief moment, is to drink from the well of life itself
And as I stand now, I swear, I would kneel there gladly, unthirsting for forever
Should the moment of passing be this day, even as the age has crept upon me
I should keep words in check, for thoughts and actions are what emerges
To touch the softness of your cheek, I would walk barefoot across stone and thorn
Sharpness cutting flesh and wear-welts would not steer me away from my destiny
To caress your shoulders would be a moment of sheer joy, my hands moving
Rough upon soft, yet somehow the rough too becomes a softness uplifting and true
Your name upon my lips is the name that binds me, the one that steadies me
Tis the name that carries me home when the winds whip and the storm does churn
Take me, good wife, not as a fleeting shadow of your eternity, but as this ancient vow
With breath, with blood, and with soul. I am yours beyond space and time
Death shall not linger, nor shall our two hearts find forgetting in this love
Additional Reading
R.J. (Ralph) Schwartz is an American poet, author, website owner, and online publisher. His writing spans several poetry collections—ranging from spiritual and romantic to fear-driven explorations—and even extends into science fiction. Notable works include:
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Hope – Inspirational and Spiritual Poetry
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Things That Go Bump in the Night – Poetry of Fear and Fright
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The Lover’s Thread – Poetry for Couples
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Poetry of the Human Condition – The Ups and Downs of Modern Living
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The Secrets of the Moon (a sci-fi novel co-authored with his son Sebastian J. Schwartz)
Schwartz’s work is described as purposefully wordy, richly descriptive, and thematically grounded in nature, romance, antiquity, and forgotten histories. He writes regularly on platforms he manages, including The Creative Exiles, a collaborative venue for writers, and The Gypsy Thread, which delves into offbeat histories, pagan lore, and poetry.
- The Republic of Perpetual Outrage - March 7, 2026
- Thoughts Over Coffee – The Cereal Taxonomy Crisis - February 25, 2026
- Normal Was The First Casualty - February 23, 2026
