Nothing was ever good enough, nothing was ever right.
If white, he wanted it black, if day he wanted it night.
He’d sit all day in that dratted chair and criticize the world.
There was trouble from the minute his poisonous tongue uncurled.
He’d huff and puff, and whinge and sigh, and would go on throughout the day.
He’d moan and groan, grumble and gripe, as long as he got his say.
In his odd and annoying way, he was quite the entertainer.
Indeed, we all now call him ‘The Wonderful Mr. Complainer’.
interesting poem...this was quit enjoyable...i had a husband like that once and it instantly made me thing of him...nice job!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
such people are funny, my grandpa's like that, but still a good hearted kind caring guy too.