Mrs. Smith

Yes, Mrs. Smith I surely would hold hands with you if I just could and with my innermost good feelings I'd try to talk to you of healings and how we must accept what God has sent to us, however odd . I'd stroke your neck, massage your feet and talk about the summer heat of life itself and how it's short and how he was a lovely sport, about his childhood and his cars his dreams of travelling to Mars. Then we would plan to see a show perhaps on Broadway, sit front row and ask why John went overseas perhaps your tears at last would cease. But no, you could not bear this life. Disharmony and all this strife. You could not hesitate or wait I would have been your constant mate. While I dreamed of his happy laughter you hanged yourself on your own rafter.