Waves of weary reach the shore of joy

Eroding the coastline, they keep crashing

And in the house, a fragile vase smashing

He stood there while she sat down, coy


Every day he loves her less and less

Words spoken, hearts broken, scars all around

Porcelain shatters, lives fall to the ground

In trying to keep it together, such haplessness


A walk on the beach becomes a fight for life in quicksand

Witwatersrand, the strand, what’s left of the Merlot?

Grapes were crushed, she started playing Tarot

My inebriation, her disbelief, our bitter end


Clay pots, a thousand years old, crack a smile

Wider than she’s ever done; such lack

Of softness, all that’s left is a plaque:

Here lies comfort, may she rest a while

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