Behind Closed Doors

A summers day and all is still.

She sits beside the window cill.

All seems quiet, domestic bliss.

Or is there something that I miss?

He's striding off with a chair.

Surely it's one of a pair?

"It's mine,"he shouts,"I'm leaving now.

You can have the rest, it's yours to keep.

I've had enough, I want no more.

Of the life I've had behind that door."

She watches trying not to weep.

All that glitters is not gold.

The shutters close, the sun's not there,

And as it sets the house turns cold. She's all alone and feeling old.

Tomorrows sun won't cure despair