The Widow Still In Her Twenties

The widow still in her twenties and tender Can an account of her glamour render: Jesus Christ, just her temporary darling She, sure to later catch a man with pounds sterling! Hers is a prison with loosening chain After six months: The dotted with pains And tolerable don’ts. Even with the longest, a full year Fully bounces back The Pearly Pear; No deity to ever aver that she hadn’t tried fried Over some three hundred and fifty four days somewhat fried Soon, superbly ready for longish phone calls And breathtaking male invitations to balls. With the craziest text messages taking chances; A perfection of forged frowns at desired advances… A young widow wouldn’t too long wait by any window And doesn’t too long indulge her gloomy shadow.