I'm afraid your husbands dead
(The Audacity of Hate.)
Leafy London, garden roses,
Late one summer’s afternoon.
No recourse from tragic duty.
Hope his kids are still at school.
Stranger sorrow, swiftly rising
As I’m knocking at the door.
Would she scream? - Or stand,
With desperate eyes I’d seen before?
Then I stilled my trepidation,
And with sympathy, I said;
“He collapsed at Cambridge Station,
I’m afraid your husbands dead.”
I waited for the tears to come,
Flowing from her eyes;
Its then I learned that Love
Is far too fickle to surmise.
She smiled and looked me in the face,
Then said with no remorse;
“This means I get it all - You see,
We’re getting a Divorce.”
True story!
still tweaking
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