Lonely I sit,

my coffee growing cold,

amid the clink of cutlery and glass.

The constant chatter of others,

the buzzing activity of them all

is an accusation of me.

I, who sit in lonely thought

wishing for the happy times, long gone,

when family and friends filled my life.

No more, now just endless days,

waiting for those few minutes

loved ones share.

Lonely I sit.

My coffee is cold.

 

 

David Garlick, Victoria, 1989