Stew

I see her once.
She doesn't twice.
I make a stew.
She says it's nice.
Ah yes, I think it's true.
I like my stew.

She goes to work.
I stay at home.
I make her bed.
She sleeps alone.
Too bad, what can I do!?
I sit and stew.

She puts on too much make up.
I see her through the crack, in her door.
Sometimes at night I wake up,
and wish that I could see, her more.

I call her Jan.
I call her down.
I make her toast.
I make it brown.
My job, that's what I do.
My name is Stu.

And then she's off,
and I am too.
I tidy up,
and make a stew.
And then, sit and feel blue.
That's what I do.