by Messan Foley
Wonderful, kind and pretty,
At home, she is loved like a slave
Only for the tea she cooked,
The cleaning, the washing and the ironing,
When dirt conquer the house.
Affectionate and compassionate,
She is still eating from the wrong plate
And long been the only one to know,
That the old marriage is very dead.
Resolute to escape, away from
Where silence is her weapon for peace
She has broken her chains of a slave
And cares now less for that
The human convention calls union for life.
A lot to give and take,
Delighted to cook, and eat from the right plate.
She just wants to breathe from affection
And enjoy the forbidden fruit,
Where the common bed is no longer a burden
Eating from the wrong plate
© Copyright: Лика Гай, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №212031400961
Свидетельство о публикации №212031400961
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