To My Wife. An Apology And A Promise (By S.A. Cleaver Pow) Poem by Andrew Wright

I've not been a very good husband, in fact as husbands go,
I seem to have broken all records, in giving my wife cause for woe,
I used to stop out of an evening in pubs, playing darts with the boys,
And never at any time trouble, that my wife wasn't sharing my joys.

I'd drink and I'd curse and I'd gamble, and sometimes I'd rave and shout,
My dinners were left in a saucepan, till most of the taste had boiled out,
I joined the army against her advice, was stationed a long way from home,
Had four days leave before going abroad, was captured and no more could roam.

I wrote to my wife when a prisoner, half fearing she'd ignore my plea,
Requesting that she'd send me quickly, some clothes, cigarettes and beef tea.
Back came the reply as soon as could be, full of loving and tender thoughts,
Saying the goods I required were on the way, with others of various sorts.

Now there is one thing captivity taught me, the worth of my wife and son,
And when I get back to Blighty, I'll see that they join in my fun,
They tell me there are model husbands, I don't think they will call me that,
But if I don't make a better job this time, just call me a bloody rat.