The Fred that filled her shoes with blood
is not the Fred we think we love.
A Fred that we could love like that
would be an easy-going chap,
urbane and funny, tender too.
If Fred did not treat Ginger so,
but let those little missteps go,
we would not love him as we do.
If you have any comments on
this poem, David Callin would be pleased to hear them.