the dud man wanted a saint
but she failed his mean test
even after a faint and a feint
with a huge sigh he let it rest
took up his rucksack and left
she cast him  a long wistful look
her slumped pose the picture
of internal dejection and anguish
sharpened by an endless lament
that she'd not shown him his theft
of the aching heart of a  live woman
of vibrant flesh, blood and dreams
she longed to tell him straight
she was not an idea to be analysed
and later discarded like an abused rag
but the unkind distance engulfed him
even as the rays of the sinking sun
blended their gold with his yellow attire
thus she knew as of that unfeeling day
such mishaps were the very fabric of life