Will You Always Bring Me Oranges?

When I am sick,
Will you always bring me oranges?
Will you always stir my tea,
And bring me newspapers to read?

Will you stand in my doorway,
A beauty in the half light,
And declare to one so ill
That you love him still?

And when my fever finally subsides,
And the shivering has stopped,
Will you lay with me again,
Pressed up tight against my skin?

I hope to see you when we're old,
And our skin has sagged and wrinkled,
And all that we dare drink is tea
And newspaper print's too hard to read.

When I am sick,
Will you always bring me oranges?
I promise I'll do the same.