His beautiful wife, the lines on her face,
The years of youth they seem to erase,
Yet he will never see her so crudely,
And only sees time to increase her beauty.
And it makes him so sad when she does appear,
To turn away from her reflection in the mirror,
And look longingly at her slit skirts before they are dismissed,
With fonder memories, a bittersweet reminisce.
And so to a flower shop he does enquire,
To send a bouquet from a secret admirer,
So that his wife may secretly gloat,
About who would send her such flowers but not a note.
And so he comes home and says to her “Pray,
Tell me what special things happened today!”
Only to see his wife’s mood was not lifted,
By these dozen roses so secretly gifted.
Ideas of an admirer for her may exist,
A notion the woman has quickly dismissed,
“An old woman like me just puts them in water,
For surely such beauty was meant for my daughter.”