Every day it went; a daily routine:
She would bring him coffee
While he was hunched over his papers
In his crowded study
Surrounded by his creations great and small.
She would watch him
And his coffee
Turn cold
While he rummaged through mazes
Of figures that she barely understood.
Sometimes she'd jokingly think
That he had slipped the ring
On the wrong woman's finger--
She felt a mistress, secondary
To Science and the Muses.
Not that she'd mind;
It was a burden
A path of servitude
That her love chose to take.
And so she set the cup on his desk
Still piping hot
With his quick thanks
She went back to the kitchen.
Tomorrow morning
She'll return
With another cup--
Just like today
Just like yesterday
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