A sad song and a chopped lemon
Lying gutted on the dusted table.
A dying candle drips out the only source of light,
Casting slanting shadows on the four walls
That contains everything she owns;
Sitting at a dusted table listening to her sad song
That final drip of dying light,
That last drop of melting wax;
For then yet another day will have given up on her
And lay down in its bitter defeat.