How he made her angry
Was not how the story's fashioned
Things are never as they seem
The realest is most imagined
Does she the softest whisper of
Her heart to neighbor nextdoor tell
Over the morning washing
By noon it's fullest in the ear
Of informed people everywhere
By evening it's become a yell
And nighttime finds her slashing
The throat of her lover
And shouting so they all can hear
It's over It's over

by D A Phinney

Other poems of PHINNEY (92)

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