It’s the end of August and the rain won’t stop,
And the cars all drift through this water maze,
People watch their feet, hardly looking up,
And I float along through this smoky haze.
How this city’s aged! – It is gray and cold,
Buildings fall down flat on the puddled street,
And I feel as though I don’t fit this mold, -
Everyone seems dull, everything’s concrete.
Do you remember us in that tiny room,
With the curtains drawn, and the candle lit?
Though we understood: we’d be parting soon,
We naively thought: we could handle it.
We were happy then, in our little nook, -
You read me poetry on the windowsill.
What we didn’t know is the tears it took,
And the years it took, and the strength of will.
It’s the little things that you’ve left behind
Or took away with you that I cannot bear,
Coming home from work, all alone, to find
Coffee, but no cups and an empty chair…