Time
She said, 'It's always later than you think.'
Despite her smile, her eyes were full of fear.
'They're calling time; let's have another drink.'
She told me fate had brought her to the brink,
left all her hopes undone, her path unclear.
She said, 'It takes more balls than you might think.'
At midnight, she would still be in the pink.
'Last orders' were two words she'd seldom hear.
'Come on,' she'd laugh, 'I need another drink.'
She was sharp and sassy, quicker than a wink;
though I loved her, she was there and never here.
Once she said, 'You're so much duller than you think.'
She behaved as if her armour had no chink;
still, the mask she wore was just a slick veneer.
'Life's a bitch - so please shut up and have a drink.'
Then her laughter and her spirit seemed to shrink;
I would plead and she would snarl, 'Don't interfere.'
In the end, I couldn't cry, I couldn't think;
so I left her - in a bar with one last drink.
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