I know that Irving has made me a shrew,
but there was, truly, nothing else I could do.
Oh! when we were young, back when we met,
he was carefree and funny, do all on a bet.
With a pint in his hand, his twinkling eyes,
we dared try all our loving desired.
But the roof started leaking, rain dripped on our bed.
I shook him, but the rascal could sleep like the dead.
So, slowly we slipped into awful habits.
I’d screech like a witch.
Rip ran like a rabbit.
It’s ten years since I’ve seen him.
Our son’s cut from his cloth,
but Rachel, our daughter, is Rip without sloth.
But, truth be told, I do miss him, of course.
And if, one day….
There’s that tinker outside!
I’ll scare him and laugh when he scampers to hide.
And, someday, if ever, Rip returns from the dead,
Such a pain in my head…