Time is slipping,
shipping away glorious moments
And I can see the lights, I can smell the buds
Of last May, when my friends all gathered under the
Tipsy umbrella, wobbling in the breeze. They
Looked so happy – groups of chatter and passionate debate and –
Now the lawn is overgrown
Empty chairs lie water-soaked, abandoned next to
Wilting flowers. All my friends are gone.
and I can hear the quiver of the wire fence against the wind.