The waitress

A poet has flung his roses and all wild oats.
The waitress shall wait no more upon him.
Another waiter waits her in short duration.

We forget much ,love gone with the wind.
Weeping and laughs have no portion in us,
After we have passed the big forgetful gate.

(Remembering Earnest Dowson’s poem “I am not as I was under the reign of the good Cynara ” and his unrequited love for a waitress)

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