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QuillOak

Lyric Poem · Love

He Checks the Locks

by The QuillOak Editors

You check the doors, you check the stove,

you check the windows twice;

you'd never call it tenderness —

you'd call it "being precise."

But I know why I sleep so well

while wind and weather roam:

the last thing every day you do

is make sure I'm safe home.

Original poem © QuillOak — free for personal use.

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