She stands alone before sink and bowl
And feels the ache within her soul
The hand that once caressed her there
Now rests on arm of favourite chair

She does not mind her lovers belly
Or hours of footie watched on telly
The years have passed in shades of grey
Oh if only life had been that way

Now with hands in rubber gloves
Plunged in a bowl of Fairy's suds
She thinks about a bit of heaven
with Mr Jones at fifty seven

 

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