Two

I knew a couple,
Half of gloom, the other of joy.
Each morning they sat in their kitchen.
The old man dressed with a black jacket,
The old woman dressed with a white blouse.
The old man grumbled,
The old woman gave thanks.
The man talked to no one,
No one talked to him.
The woman talked to many,
Many talked to her.
The old man sat hunched,
Like the top of crescent moon;
The old woman sat properly,
Like a blooming rose.
They had a cup of tea,
Filled exactly half way.
The old man’s half empty,
The old woman’s half full.
One morning, the top of the crescent moon crashed
Into the sea of spiced water before it.
The bells moved up and down,
Lives kept on flowing.
The old woman continued to fill the cups;
One half empty,
The other half full.
The woman died soon,
Of a broken heart.
The bells moved up and down,
Lives stopped and mourned.
The sky, clear as diamonds,
Let down a small shower.
The Earth mourned;
The People mourned.
I looked upon these deaths and saw
The two different lives each led.
Now, I look at life as I fix my gray tie, in one way,
Is the cup half empty, or half full?