I Made Her Cry
I made her cry today
with tomorrows promises
promised her just the other day.
‘So why does she weep, the missus?’
Her tearful eyes are for
the many disappointments
borne a sadden heart to harbor
caused by me to a great extent.
Too many, too often, designed
dreams that I had painted for her
leaving to wither on the vine;
she ceased to dream altogether.
“Honey, is there any reason
for your tears, something I had said?”
“It’s nothing; drink your coffee, hon.
Do you want whole wheat or rye bread?”
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