The Ingrate

He barks at her with words as sharp is a fine razor yet she continues all about as if it never phase her Supper was cold my bed unmade coffee much too strong no matter what she did for him it was always wrong She darn his socks washed his clothes and ironed his finest shirts and he would strut about proud with the ladies he always flirt She shined his shoes and drew his bath and laid his wears on his bed and she was more a servant of his unlike a wife instead All the years she gave to him a home with children and love and he disdain it all blaming his fate on heaven above Then one day she left him going to her grave to rest and he felt she abandon him and he was all amiss His house unclean his life alone for he had no friends bitterness and loneliness accompany him to his end At the Pearly Gates he stood and angrily yelled her name but Saint Peter silenced him, Be humble have you no shame It's all her fault she was no good to me it's why the way I am Peter opened salvations book and showed his name marked condemn Unfair unfair if I go so must she with me too Peter spoked she lived her hell a life on earth with you down he fell from heaven's grace into the fires below on earth his body cremated with no tears or sorrow