Squabbling Poem by shimon weinroth

forty odd years and more,
they fell into a way,
of passing the time of day,
without anything good to say

He would say I,
she would retort with aye
thinking her contrary and spiteful,
he mumbled and grumbled
and gave her an earful,
She was not humbled,
her retorts were awful,

this went on,
for forty odd years and more,
their children five, grown and mature
left for a place more secure, .

this talent of carrying on
for two generations and more
helped them to carry on
forty odd years and more