He passes by her as she works;
He barely looks, and grunts —
He doesn’t marvel at her there,
And never even once
Has he thought what a lucky man
He is she’s in his life;
I knew a man who felt that way —
But she is not his wife
She’s climbed the ladder of success,
With no one home who cheers;
She comes home to requests for sex
Amid the empty beers
She’s full of grace, and full of class,
With ideas she is rife;
I knew a man who loved all that —
But she is not his wife
In case you have been wondering:
It’s true – I was the man –
Who loved her back in days gone by,
Before all this began
And maybe I am biased, but
I think she can do better
Than be there with some brutish dolt
Who’ll, half the time, forget her
And sure I’m writing this, so I
Could end it trite and sappy —
But I don’t want her for myself:
I want her to be happy