A Pot with No Stew

A POT WIT NO STEW

 

I can remember the hunger

Of a pot with no stew

And the hours, upon hours,

I waited, at home, for you;

I never minded the poverty

Or the lack of pretty frills,

But all of your liberty

Was freedom that kills;

I suffered your way up;

She sits with you on top;

Oh, how can I accept

That she made your love stop;

I played my part well;

I knew you could and would;

I never detected the evil,

Amongst all your cover-up good;

My heart aches for you

And it aches because of you;

Tell me we aren't through;

Or, is our love. . .

     A pot with no stew?

Reviews

[emmajoy]

Oh so sad; facing a situation like this must be heart-breaking. Whether or not this is true is not my business but you write so sincerely that you certainly understand the sadness of it.

Fine write.