Too Rough for Her Delicate World

She said I was too rough for her delicate world when these rough hands grab too hard around her soft life. She wanted gentle moments that swayed in the breeze not my heavy storms that tore through her life ripping everything apart and uprooting all her calm moments. She wanted warm gentle rains not my storms that flooded everything and smashed all the boats in her safe harbour. She wanted a warming sun that brought life to her valley, not the scorching heat-wave that burnt everything and left scorched destruction in its wake. She wanted time and languid motion on smooth flowing rivers, not raging torrents that broke their banks and left everything of her life sodden and hopeless.

She wanted to teach me how to be gentle and I wanted to show her the dangers of this rough world and how I could keep her safe from it all. How I could be the wall she could hide behind, when the world tumbled and fell all around her. That I would be there always ready to be the rock she could cling to when the rough seas of life shipwrecked her. That I could be the one safe place she could always run to and I would be there, standing over her for as long as she needed me.