Mea Culpa, My Dear.

Just a few lines to clear the air,

From your eraser of prospects and dreams,

Since the Annulment now is pending in Court ,from a Marriage that’s torn at the seams.

I’II assume she was ecstatically happy,

When divorce was breathed to your Mum,

I was never the one for her ‘Best Blue Eyed Girl’ ,

That  Rinsed Haired ‘ Attila the Hun’. 

No Prius parked in the driveway, or Audi with Performance to trust,

For we both traveled so , Waiting  for ‘Godot’ to show,

That which is known as the Regional-Bus.

No holidays to Mauritius, or Bali ; Ibiza , Malta, Hong Kong,

For we Pitched up our Tent, where we usually went, 

In a field near the Scenic A1. 

Once Hope was a ‘Thing with Feathers’, now our lives an ever widening gulf,

With shades of ‘Taylor and Burton’, and the script of ‘Virginia Woolf’.

Oh! I never was the Worlds greatest lover,

No fine Romance had ever been payed,

No ‘Savile Row Suits’ or style ‘Al la Mode ‘, 

My choice look was more ‘Christian Aid’. 

So its Mea Culpa my dear,

I was never your true ‘Mr Right’,

The Engagement the ‘Montgolfier Wonder’,

The Marriage The ‘Hindenburg Flight’.

Then forgive me so for I have sinned, 

For saying ‘I Do ‘ to the Chaste Miss Lynd,

And should I die before I wake , 

It’s Just Desserts for my mistake.