A Shade of Self-Reflection
When I do glance across the fence I ask,
From whence you have this grass so green procured,
If kids not thine in lots not mine do bask,
Is it perchance you have my youth allured?
If that were all, come fall may I feel whole,
My wife you took, a proper crook, my heart
If any remains, imparts me pains, a hole
Resides, in deep throes I, watch thee depart.
Alone, a home will be almost silent,
Laying, I lie awake in deep wonder
Pondering, was my will of a tyrant,
Nay that, for I am not one to blunder.
Cursed be thine, you thieve things that were mine,
This damn lot, that was not so green or fine.