A poem, a poem for my dear wife Shay, even

A poem, a poem for my dear wife Shay, even though I'm a poet I don't know what to say.
Dear Shay, your're my May, the birds wing and sing for the day, we met.
Yet times of Old have wended on their way & it now seems Sorrow's here to stay. So Shay, my friend, it looks as though that joy must end. Can ever we know glee again? Seems not to
matter to thou. Shay. Shay? Shay, this is no time for jesting. Shay? Oh my dear lord. Shay, Shay?" Lord Perefinbroke touched shay's cheek. Hard and cold as
a stainless steel fridge, Shay's cheek rebuked Perefinbroke's touch. "Why!?! Oh, Shay! Gone too soon, my dear. Much too soon!" Perefinbroke removed his hand from her cheek like a
person that is very experienced in removing hands from cheeks. Shay gasped in horror because she had finally discovered the truth. Perefinbroke was actually
Relieved the door finally opened and he could escape, unnoticed. The claustrophobia was too much.
It enclosed him, wrapped him up into a tiny box, and then sealed the box with a carefully placed bow. His heart beating rapidly against his chest, he ventured out.
As he was walking out he realized he forgot a card to celebrate this wondrous day. He walked back in and started rummaging through some. He decided on the one that said,
"Life's a beautiful mess." because it seemed fitting. "Ahh the joy to be alive!", he thought as he left the store once more.

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