Walter was a hen and Wilma was a drake
They were the perfect pair, ducks swimming on the lake
They spent their days in sun with energy replete
With added bliss of food right under their four feet
One day Sir Wilma cried for he had lost his gal
Overbearing sadness, some kind of living hell
Being pathological wouldn’t do him any good
So he went back to the car and he sat upon the hood
He waited til the dark made it harder for him to see
He figured he’d go home and make a cup of tea
Later that same night there was knocking on the door
In came lovely Walter and she was mad for sure
She was fit with rage at the actions Wilma had.
She told him she was angry, she told him she was mad.
He showed no reluctance to hamper her madness
to live out his life sentence, to always do his best.
©2022 CBialczak Poetry