By Martin H. Levinson

How do I love me? Let me count the ways.
I love me when I rise at break of day,
staggering around blindly in a haze
in search of car keys sadly gone astray.
I love me when I say a careless thing
that I regret cannot be taken back.
I love me when I drop a turkey wing
that falls on the rug and makes a big splat.
I love me freely when I burn the toast.
I love me purely when I stub my toe.
I love me staunchly when I am reproached.
I love me swiftly when I walk too slow.
And if it’s my fate to be error prone,
I’ll love me better, till the cows come home.