By Laura Schiller
I want to be your laurel,
the Olympic victor's wreath encircling your head.
To run my fingers through your hair
like the soft touch of young green leaves.
I want to be your cloak,
to wrap you in warmth against the winter wind.
To gently fold my arms around you
and never let go.
I want to be your staff,
to whirl through the air and strike your enemies
and be your strong support in peacetime.
If you get tired, my love, lean on me
and I promise I will never fail.