True Love
I don't love you anymore
Cos I love me more!
It's I adore, not you!
He left, after admiring himself in the glass
But he didn't move very fast he was well over sixty two
And as he walked by, she knew,
His middle life crisis was well overdue
It happened at two, every day
When he got his own way
But by three he was back for his tea, toast and ices
His vices forgotten his memory was rotten
His suitcase was slung in the hall
It was a matter of pride, that she stayed by his side,
Though she confessed 'I never loved him, at all! '
poem by Yvette Smith
Added by Poetry Lover
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