His large face glows, large jowls falling, a faint sound comes from his rear. It’s morning time, a day left to find, by Satan he so needs a beer. Mr. Tibbs looks to his wife, his mouth open, his life, this treasure of tears. This joyless mate, in dubious fate, her sermons lasting for years. Mr. Tibbs ruminates time will last onward, their conjugal life immortal he fears, then his watch stops, a thought by a clock, Mrs. Tibbs approaches with “dear”.
Mrs. Tibbs a woman remanding, this man so ignorant she sneers, but on her mind, a diamond at Steins, the way forward is reasonably clear. She has a plan, around her large man, she twinkles and brings her long face up austere. It seems Mrs. Tibbs will fix dinner, a meal to talk of for years, and in her invite the Vicar De Brite will join the couple with cheer. They’ll eat and talk of G-D’s goodness, and what thus bounty they own, and then in respite, as the candles grow light, Mrs. Tibbs will bring all to tears.
The clock it coos six of nothing, the door knocker, knocks so clear, and there in a sight his frock bold black right, stands one Vicar held dear. The Tibbs twitter and make up, they smile as lovers for years, and when they eat, their napkins kept neat, the Vicar prays happiness here.
Mr. Tibbs falls for entrapment, he leaps his conscience unclear, for into her hands both fool and G-D’s man a trap by Mrs. Tibbs nears. The woman talks of misfortune, of orphans she’s heard of in Zaire, if only a gift from those such as this, they’d eat for surely a year. Her mouth moves in fore motion, her mind arranges the spear, while Mrs. Tibbs soars, the Vicar ignores, the woman has moved him to tears.
Mr. Tibbs groans his world burly, for once it’s nothing of beer. Mrs. Tibbs to his right has talked near all night, a fund for orphans not near. The Vicar De Brite, cries in delight, when Mrs. Tibbs makes her donation so clear. Her old diamond and keepsake, the one she’s cherished for years, will leave her sight with the Vicar that night, the spirit of giving appears.
Mrs. Tibbs her cheeks like a ruby, Mr. Tibbs his face stark and clear, the evening in play, he’s losing his way, for in truth he never could steer. Mrs. Tibbs she sobs in her napkin, her diamond of life she holds clear, and then as her plan she looks at both men, and says something must replace love so dear.
Mr. Tibbs he walks with a wiggle, the spear unseen in his rear, for on this night, he’s lost to his wife, a wit of marital sphere. He leaves the room unhappy, his reason unspeakably clear, the Vicar’s been played, but what can he say, his wallet will be lighter for years.
His large face glows, large jowls falling, a faint sound comes from his rear. – 10.09.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל