My love is a doer, comfortable
with thoughtful actions and compassionate
interventions of a practical kind.
Not given to excessive effusions,
more likely to nourish and organise.
While I recovered after surgery
she brought me the only bunch of flowers
she could find in the depths of cold winter,
which had a solitary, brave iris,
my favourite, knowing that it would make
my heart feel loved. And to soothe my body,
elderflower cordial and ice cubes
to lessen the sore dryness in my throat
after the anaesthetic; eloquent
and more telling than any loving words.