Why I write, what I write on Vacation

This is a poetic jumble of thoughts.

I sit attentive, waiting, watching
As dreams come and go.
The ladies, pretty, dancing, lovely
Makes my heart's blood flow,
But they are not my wife

The woods filled with foliage and scented
Enough to lift my bright smile
Oh, these ladies blind me till I cover my eyes
For they are not my wife
No matter what they may play for guile.

A shout and I hunch over
Someone calls my name harshly, irate
So I can’t help but cringe.
Yes, this would be my wife-
The love of my life most truly
And I can’t help but trust Fate.
Now I do her bidding, carefully, willingly.

(Note: she still lets me write so of course she is a keeper!)
(Note: this was meant to be fun, so all ye poets, please turn a blind eye! And thank you)