horror

The wine was wrongfully labeled,
and the woman had her fill.
It was poisoned by her husband,
but meant not for her but his lover.
So that when the woman died,
he was full of distress.
Because as much as he despised his wife,
He no longer longed for his mistress.
In the wake of her funeral,
After all rites were read.
When at least several moons had gone,
And several suns had crossed
When the woeful worries of his meaningless life,
Echoed among the dreams of the deceased.
That husband was reunited with wife,
When his mistress stabbed him to death.