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C l i n g i n g   O n

She was not willing to divorce him.
She cared naught for him,
And did not die for his love.
But that was a different story.

She had clung for twenty years
To what being his wife meant,
The Mercedes, bungalow, servants, jaunts.
She was not willing to divorce this
From her life.

She’d die of want
Of a different kind.



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