Small Blessings

I recline in my sick bed and,
Tap, tap these keys.
This poem writes itself on my laptop screen.
In the kitchen, my husband,
Is scrubbing a pot.
I hear the sound of scourer on metal.
He has already fed us,
Organised the children and retired them to their beds.
The fire has been lit,
By him.
The house, like my heart is warming.
This rest is easy,
I don't feel his efforts,
As any weight of obligation.
He takes such care of me.
These are the small blessings,
Enjoyed by someone who is loved.