Poet Wife

I dreamed I had a poet wife  
to tidy up my thinking
She'd wash my word socks every night  
and stop my phrases stinking
We'd roam the pages of our lives
make memories together
and before our ink was barely dry
we both knew it was clever
Now here's the thing I like the most
while we scribble in a fever
even when she burns my toast
I know I'll never leave her  
And joy of joys the day arrived
she proved I was a man
presenting me with ecstasy
our couplets in a pram
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