To Be Or Not To Be The End
When Mr Darcy brought my hand to his lips
Drenched in sweet longing before the scale tips
I, fraught with naivety and desire
Held trust cast into the furnace of mire
Dear friend, two offspring, a dog and a cat
In our fineries we waltzed to 'Take That'
Unbeknown to me, alas we were three
Lipstick etched upon my fine filigree
Teeth gnashing, I challenged indiscretion
He dismissed my genteel inquisition
Contact made with a bedpan appliance
Hence, now divorced in act of defiance
Dear reader, this ends with no tale of woe
On the dating app, I curtsey and go
Copyright © W J Clarke | Year Posted 2025
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