A Wife’s Poem*_
_He didn’t like my curry_
_And he didn’t like my cake;_
_He said my biscuits were too hard_
_Not like his mother used to make._
_I didn’t prepare his coffee right,_
_He didn’t like my stew,_
_I didn’t mend his socks_
_The way his mother used to do._
_I pondered for an answer_
_I was looking for a clue._
_Isn’t there anything I could do_
_To match his mother’s shoe?_
_Then I smiled as I saw the light_
_And that smile, it grew and grew_
_I turned around and slapped him tight_
_Like his mother used to do!_
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