Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Sunday Night

Once upon a time
In a king size cosy bed,
His toes were afraid to touch her
And he turned away his head.
But that is what happens
When you lay it on the line.
“I don’t love you any more
But everything will be fine.
There isn’t another woman
And I do not wish to leave.
I’ll stay here for the children”.
Oh my, how she grieves.
Her slender frame beside him
Shivers with quiet sorrow.
Her shaken, fragile mind
Worries about tomorrow.
The Monday morning breakfast
When she mustn’t look so glum.
Their little treasures must not guess
That Dad does not love Mum.
And so she’ll boil the kettle,
Toast the bread and squeeze the juice,
Contain the fear and heartbreak
As the screws come a little loose.
But still they will not know,
She has resolved herself of this,
The artificial fa├žade begins,
Perfect family bliss.

No comments:

Post a Comment