When we meet,
It's like a meeting,
With a director's
board,
The words are stilted,
The movements restricted,
Our
eyes hardly meet,
And when they do,
All we can see is,
Love
that's nearly gone.
These days, we don't yearn,
For each other's company,
And
the telephone is used,
To talk to others,
Who are waiting
patiently,
For us to both agree,
That all we have is,
Love
that's nearly gone.
Oh, why do we pretend,
And play this farce,
Or are we
both hoping
That maybe again,
The cooling embers of
love,
Will burst back into flame,
And save us from
admitting,
That love is nearly gone?
Posted: 2007-07-01 12:14:01