A furrowed brow: then her high-pitched voice shrill,
No love in the whirlpool swirl, her eyes obsessed
With the dark web, her mouth agape distraught ill,
Her husband holds her son captive, a test.
Why would this deranged maniac try to crush
The weathered story of first love? She cries
As Jesus wept, nobody hears the hush
Of silence in their home, where the heart lies.
In the gutter, she found a broken man, where
Once, before his fall, under the bower
They made love.
Her father said, pouring a cup
Of tea for her, her husband would not share
An interest in her company, the hour
Of truth arrives, disconsolate, her loss abrupt.
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