Poor Monty

Monty, it's so strange.
Everything will change.
Think how our lives will be.
I don't know what you'll do without me.

Poor Monty,
you're awfully handsome and smart.
Poor Monty,
you'll rise above.
You'll put the loss of Sibella behind,
and you will find someone better to love.

Poor Monty,
have I just broken your heart?
Poor Monty,
Am I to blame?
It may look bleak, but in a week,
I'll wager you'll have forgotten my name.

I think I can picture her now,
young and willing,
oh, it's thrilling!
In a way you'll have me to thank.
She'll be perfect, a shopper, a teacher,
the sister of a preacher, or a widow with cash in the bank!

Poor Monty,
cosy in a cottage for two.
Oh Monty,
soon they'll be free,
nothing will stop, you'll ascend to the top,
you'll own your own shop,
Monty I guarantee.
And I'll rue the day I turned you away,
and I will say to myself:
Poor me.

I can picture us now;
very grand, in demand,
always somewhere exciting to go.
Full of mayfair, we're limited,
as lovers, and haters,
for being the people people want to know.

My husband,
will grow distinguished and grey.
My husband,
will always be:
straight as a line,
steady and fine,
totally mine.
Unfortunately,
dry as a bone,
an insufferable drone,
dull as a stone.
Poor me.