That tired old waitress once asked with a groan:
“Refill with two sugars, and with that no cream?”
She stared out the window at the darkening sky,
as if she were trapped in a nightmarish dream.
She promised herself she’d run away from this world,
to go someplace else, where the roses will grow.
I wish she had the courage to do it much sooner.
When will she go? I’ll never know.