For a silent woman, alone

She dreams a hard-working man; one who comes home at night. A man who grins cities and smiles tall forests, who mops sweat from a tanned face with the frayed-but clean snows of a thousand meadows.

She dreams a man, whose rough-gentle hands know just what to do, and he can do it too, just like that; a man not too pretty, whose quick-eye winks, a cracker-jack of a guy, too humble to be proud.

She dreams, in her silence, of a man, who can drive away a cloud as though there's nothing to it, and without a word of brag, but with her permission, just do it.