A Nonsong About Unlove

There will be times.
Time enough for bereavements,
Teas, marmalades and wines
Spat all over oily pavements.
We will know the mornings,
Evenings, afternoons
And we will eat at greasy spoons.
Yes, there will be times.

And there will be times
For a thousand reflections
And ten thousand small rejections;
A hundred thousand hard injections
Of the drug of human kindness
While we sip on fertile minds.

For we have known them all:
All the heartaches, all the lies,
All the garbage heaps and all the flies
From all the rotten thumbs
Stuck in all our humble pies.
We have known them, known them all,
We have withered in their pall
But there will be time and times
To find each other, after all.

And as the yellow fog curls round the house
Licking urgently against windowpanes,
We will yet sit, and drink, and talk
Of cabbages and kings.