I once like to make apple tarts
I was never much good throwing darts
To add some confusion
I had a delusion
That life can be lived as an Art
I like making quiche while at home
The smell of the pastry is warm
I saw a small ghost
Steal my hot toast
Then he left, he went over to Rome
My husband would pray in the night
Until dawn came with its gentle light
He liked my strange fiction
Without contradiction
I wish he were still in my sight
I miss his dear face and his smile
He knew that I had little guile
How will you manage
He died feeling anguish
The Devil was let out on bail





