The Special Thing

Brodie Anderson’s Poems

Here and There, Now and Then | Winter in Sarov | The Special Thing

The Special Thing

Brodie Anderson

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Why do you come to talk with me;

For I am no one, cannot you see.

A special person, I am not;

But still you come, rain, snow, or hot.

Spend time with us and touch my heart.


I know not how the others feel;

For me, my heart I can’t conceal.

When each of you are on my mind;

I think of smiles and hearts so kind.

And wish together we were now.


We live apart, across the sea;

But we’re alike both you and me.

In things that matter can’t you see;

Like love and trust and living free.

We think of these each time we meet.


Sometimes alone I think about;

If I could only loudly shout.

And you could hear just what I say;

My Russian friends are far away.

What would I say, I wonder now.


To thank you for the jokes you bring;

Or praise the lovely songs you sing.

The cookies, cakes you made me eat;

So many sweets, always a treat.

Yes, these I love, but not the most.


The special things to me you see;

Are not the gifts of Russian tea.

What are they though, it’s hard to say;

I’ll get it right, I hope and pray.

For telling you means much to me.


The warmth within your every eye,

We’ve touched so hard, we almost cry.

I lean on you, and you on me,

Until I think, we all can see

That we are close, though far away.


These special things that I speak of,

Like a mother’s never dying love.

But can you touch a special thing?

Are they majestic like a king?

Do they have warmth, do they have life?


The special thing, I’m sure you know,

It does mean much to tell you so.

The special thing that I love most,

That hurts my heart just like a ghost.

The special thing to me is you.


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