Here is a poem about the kind of love that feels like home—steady, quiet, and enduring.

The Quiet Constant

It isn’t found in lightning strikes,

Or sudden, crashing storms,

But in the way the morning light

Keeps everything so warm.

It’s in the silence shared by two,

A soft and steady grace,

The knowing look, the certain hand,

The heart’s own resting place.

It’s built of small and simple things:

A cup of tea, a door held wide,

The strength that finds its footing

When the world feels cold outside.

For love is not a fleeting spark

That vanishes with height;

It is the hearth that burns within

To guide us through the night.

 The Roots We Planted

It’s a long way from two-thousand-nine,

From the "I do" at the Harvest altar,

To the life we’ve built, line by line,

With a love that didn't falter.

Through the quiet shifts at Strickland’s wheel,

And the chaos of a house in bloom,

It’s the steady, simple way you feel

That fills up every corner of the room.

From school mornings and the kids’ bright noise,

To the dreams we’ve chased and held,

In the middle of the struggle and the joys,

It’s our story that has truly excelled.

You’re my anchor when the world gets loud,

The one who knows exactly where I’ve been.

Of all the things of which I’m proud,

It’s being yours, through thick and thin.