The Jar marked Mercy

The jar marked Mercy is empty
It sits conspicuously on her shelf
Despite all the bric-a-brac and crockery
And the mugs stained with coffee
His eyes don’t take in much else

There still is Grace aplenty
And half a decanter of Doubt
The demijohn of Muse
She’s yet to consume
As her imagination has never run out

A carafe of Lust she keeps by the fire
Deep scarlet, fruity and smooth
Every evening she pours
A glass, or four
To help get them both in the mood

But it’s the empty jar of Mercy that concerns him
As from out the cupboard a gift wrapped in ribbon she pulls
It’s their anniversary today
And somehow he now needs to explain
His bottle of Forget was full