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A grieving widow remembers fondly the husband she detested Browse this Category | Browse this Author | Return Home |
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The day that he was buried
She wept herself into a faint.
She blubbered that the coffined corpse
Was the body of a saint.
He was supremely righteous.
So kind, so good, so dear;
And she treasured every moment
They had spent together, here.
Here and there a sniffling mourner
Shook his head, though not in grief,
But rather in a kind of wry,
Ironical disbelief,
As he recalled this marriage
And how the widow often yearned
To express her disenchantments
Where her husband was concerned.
Nor was she reticent to tell
To whomever was about
That her dear spouse was a failure,
A fool, a boor, a lout.
But now, alas, he's in the grave,
God rest his tortured soul,
And a brand new grieving widow
Is assuming her new role.
--Dom Mart
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