An anteroom for his Mistress tended
By a man with empty smiles and sore aches
He slept in the corner while she the bed,
She was his all, his command, his heart-break.
For all her wanderings he never thought
About where she, leaving him, goes off to
A jealous inquisition did lead to naught,
The Mistress would pass without an adieu.
Always poised she, with her victorious pride
Given endless comfort of getting away
With all acts, omissions of wrong and right,
He, a mute never complaining, loving her each day.
   Relationships seldom come without a cost,
   Nigh impossible 'tis for a Slave to have it be lost.