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.
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