I imagine how tasteless life would be.
To live and conjugate singularly.
I would have to bear the clouds on myhead.
No stranger,foe nor friend to clear the air.
I wear my pity most times every day.
I hate to live because I am afriad.
I do little of what I love doing.
Without him or it, I should not begin.
When next I get a chance to live again,
I would not shudder at tomorrow's rain.
It would be like we never were apart.
Like the sun never stopped to shine,
Like the clouds never left the sky.
Like all we ever do will always last.
Bloody men are like bloody buses - You wait for about a year And as soon as one approaches your stop Two or three others appear. You look at them flashing their indicators, Offering you a ride. You're trying to read the destinations, You haven't much time to decide. If you make a mistake, there is no turning back. Jump off, and you'll stand there and gaze While the cars and the taxis and lorries go by And the minutes, the hours, the days. by Wendy Cope Short analysis and comments on this poem. At first glance, I thought this poem spoke the minds of generationsof single women. Then it occurred to me that it also could be applied to men. However, I would be writing from the perspective of women, who for no reason, are more affected by such fate. The first line harshly concludes the poem before it even starts and it is the anchor upon which the poem is held. It tells of the exasperation and sorrow men bring to women- single, and searching, desirous ...
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