One from missus…a much younger creature than this old fool
Will you miss the tut you give me as I noisily slurp my coffee
Will you miss your impatient sigh as I trip up the kerb
Will you miss the shout you give when I don’t at first respond
Will you miss the groan as you heave me out of the chair
Will you hell, you bastard
When I’m dead and gone you’ll miss my bouncy breasts, my blond smile as the wind slaps my face, my skip among the sand dunes as we raced towards the shoreline
You’ll only think of the buxom maid who set your pulses racing and that’s as it should be, my love.