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The Coal Bucket ©

Ian McCrae
Sydney, Australia

As we sat by the fire
One cold winters night,
My wife and I
Had a bit of a fight.

The coal bucket is empty
I said with a smile,
I'll fill the bucket
I'll go to the pile.

The house is not cold, she said in reply
The fire is not out,
I suppose it's my job
I have no doubt.

It's not that cold
It's not a big job,
And the kettle is boiling
There on the hob.

Bedtime is approaching
It's nearing midnight,
The bucket is still empty
We'll be here all night.

I'll fill the bucket
Its time for bed,
You are the boss
You are the head.

I'll fill the bucket, I said with a smile,
No thank you my dear,
Sometimes I think
There is no need for me here.

What is all the fuss about
It is my job; it is my task,
All you had to do
Was ask.

Next morning the fire was just swell
Sorry, darling, for giving you hell,
You are forgiven. She said with a frown
In this house, my darling, you wear the crown.

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