|
"You poor thing," he said
with a sneer.
Hey! Bud! Go cry in your beer!
Her response might have been,
If as unkind and crude as him.
If there's jam on the keyboard,
Or gritty sugar poured,
Maybe finger painted table,
Don't worry! We are able.
We love our lot in life,
And thank God, I'm not your wife.
Grand kids are my reason for being,
And excuse me! Are you leavin'. |
