A random rough draft from Schott's

Foremost, I absolutely must recommend Schott's Miscellany to all random information lovers. This is a random poem created around a one of Oscar Wilde's droll quips. It's not anything special. I particularly like it because it was a clear step outside of my general first person view.

Displaced Housewife

He hadn’t a single redeeming vice
No divine and decadent lust for life
Never a nip or a tuck or roving eye -
But her devious dreams weren’t so nice

What virtuous valor – really he was
Holding his counsel, holding the cause
Stoic and sad when she burned her bras.
She - hell bent to breathe, never gave pause

Looking ahead, she left him behind
Took with a man who screwed her blind
She screamed with joy – she was alive
While he sat at home and gave just a sigh