He feels his age, 'long in the tooth.'
He has no wife to share his bed.
Beauties from his mis-spent youth,
Now ghostly figures in his head.
She's served him well for thirty years,
Still takes her wage, completes her chores.
She keeps his house, allays his fears,
His happiness her greatest cause.
He thinks how sweet his life could be...
A woman's warmth within his arms,
A loyal and faithful, tender 'she',
With silken touch and gentle charms.
She always brings his tea at eight,
With post and paper on the tray
The breakfast waiting on his plate
Prepares him for another day.
He often wonders how it feels
To be adored and loved in life.
Perhaps too high were his ideals
He'd never found the perfect wife.
She smiles to see his distant look,
Watches quietly whilst she can.
Housekeeper, laundress, gardener, cook,
The perfect wife for such a man.
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