Who’s the cheater?
Accusations made before the game is even played,
Or simply put, if things don’t go my way,
It must be unfair play,
Somebody take their victory away,
Things didn’t go your way,
So you automatically cry foul play,
And steal the thunder of your opponent,
Who you couldn’t outplay,
What does this make you?
Trying to steal the winner’s joy away,
It’s so childish that grown men would act this way,
But we all witness it day after day,
I want to play, but if I lose there will be hell to pay,
This act is like a child deliberately destroying his playmate’s toy,
A toy one that they both have just enjoyed,
If I can’t win I’ll make a scene and steal their joy,
After the game has been played,
There are many things that you can say,
Such as good game,
We let this one get away,
Good luck the rest of the way,
I enjoyed myself today,
Or you can be a sore loser and cry cheat,
And refuse handshakes and walk away,
Unjustly accusing others of cheating doesn’t define who they are,
But who you are and what you’re capable of.
I stayed all day to say goodbye.
I feel so sad, but must not cry.
You came to my window to bid me farewell.
Am I expecting too much from my feathered friend?
I know my love for you will never end.
But like a soft, spring rain, will go on and on.
‘Til life becomes one sweet spring morn.
Then you’ll be back.
—Julia Carrington, South Boston
The Song of a Virtuous Wife
I am always prepared
For the worst the future has to offer.
Such is the duty of a virtuous wife;
To clothe her family in purple
Against the big snow;
To weave garments of protection
For herself and others.
This has always been my druthers,
To serve others.