In Facebook, women, come and go

Talk about husbands, so and so,

Some rich, with many mistresses

Millions poor, with many stresses

Shared grouses that husband have no time

They are unhappy, for lives out of rhyme

Whether single or widowed, they are all sad

Year by year, age passes by, they are all mad

Happiness is liked catching a slippery mud fish

Impossible to hold too long, but good to wish

Married or single, blessedness knock at their doors

Invite them indoors, eyesores and bedsores, adore

Happiness is not gender or racial, but own choice

Prioritize your voices right, share a beer and rejoice.



Read some gossips in Facebook. T.S. Eliot’s Prufrock  line comes naturally. Mind you, the word mistresses contains a million stresses. Running out of topic, the inspiration comes from daily contact.

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