[Intro]

[verse]

‘Lady In A Post Box’

Filth he started calling my body,

nearly retching at my dress slipping off

to change into my night gown.

He wouldn't lay a glove on me.

Refused even to offer up his arm

when we took to strolling on Sundays.

I got the quivers when he set himself those moods—

the ranting and raving in the parlor.

None of my food pleased him

not even the salmon I managed to wiggle

through the back door.

Refused even to stroke my hand with the arthritis

such was a bitterness overtook him.

Then— without fanfare in the black of night

the angels came down—

I never heard them

not a whisper.

Nor a groan out of him, either.

I don't hold him to blame—

Some curse fell upon his mortal being.