I made her cry

I made her cry today with tomorrows promises promised her just the other day. ‘So why does she weep, the missus?’ Her tearful eyes are for the many disappointments borne a sadden heart to harbor caused by me to a great extent. Too many, too often, designed dreams that I had painted for her leaving to wither on the vine; she ceased to dream altogether. “Honey, is there any reason for your tears, something I had said?” “It’s nothing; drink your coffee, hon. Do you want whole wheat or rye bread?”