Mrs. Smith Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Yes, Mrs. Smith I surely would
hold hands with you if I just could
and with my innermost good feelings
I'd try to talk to you of healings
and how we must accept what God
has sent to us, however odd .
I'd stroke your neck, massage your feet
and talk about the summer heat
of life itself and how it's short
and how he was a lovely sport,
about his childhood and his cars
his dreams of travelling to Mars.
Then we would plan to see a show
perhaps on Broadway, sit front row
and ask why John went overseas
perhaps your tears at last would cease.

But no, you could not bear this life.
Disharmony and all this strife.
You could not hesitate or wait
I would have been your constant mate.
While I dreamed of his happy laughter
you hanged yourself on your own rafter.