The Pied Piper’s Wife, the Painter

My husband is Peter the Piper.
Finer man I could not chose.
Though most of the time
he’s off with the mice,
he’s not a man I’ll lose.

And he caught me
with the same sad tune
about a year and a half ago.
At first the song
was one I could dance to
and then it grew soft and low.

For Peter’s a man
who will play his whistles
until you follow him home.
And the time when I left
he ran from the music,
chased me
and carried me home.

The mice can’t get enough of him
with his whistles so soft and low.
But since no one but me
has heard him speak
there’s plenty they’ll never know.

I have married the musician.
He is an artist’s dream.
And this evening while he’s off with the mice
I’ll paint pictures he’ll never see.