My pen just writes My dog just bites My wife just fights And I just might Decide everything’s alright.
Stanza Two, Written 2025 as empty nestet
Life didn’t quite yield that plight Because the pen barely writes The pups play fight The kids had height Were polite And actually bright The wife’s a delight Most days and nights My life might be trite, And I’m good with this slight rewrite.
This literally is a two-part poem written 43 years apart. Everything can be taken at face value. In retrospect 'pen' could be a euphemism. It is meant to be light and amusing