At an early age, he hit the booze,
Not knowing any other life;
No one imagined the reason at all—
Yet he found time to take a wife.
Mary was delicate and petite to a point,
She was invisible for the eye to see;
Just why she took on this massive task,
When she was within her rights to flee.
She tried in vain to change McGregor,
But old habits died very hard;
Even producing five handsome sons,
With another one on the cards.
The violence came, the abuse started;
This petite flower was duly drained,
Scared when he eventually came home,
Their marriage realistically strained.
His womanizing and alcohol addiction
Finally came to a head;
His antics and daily blackouts—
Inevitably, he would be dead.
Mary watched as her lover detached
From her and all of their kin;
McGregor wanted nothing from them,
Just booze, and to stay within.
Eventually, the old man died,
And on his tomb, it read:
"Being dependent on booze is no way to live—
Give it up and live for today."
NO PLACE FOR ABUSE IN OUR SOCIETY.
© William Sinclair Manson 2025
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