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Rondeau : Sweet Sorrow

The time has come, old friend.  A moment’s pain
and then farewell for ever.  We’ll maintain
what dignity we may – a grain of guile
to mask the melancholy – then, with style,
we’ll go our ways and never meet again.
The past was ours.  The laughter, the champagne,
the shared delights.  The warnings came in vain,
the rot set in.  And now there’s no denial,
the time has come.
No platitudes. Let’s not invite disdain.
Spare me Stiff Upper Lip,  No Pain No Gain,
I fear it may be quite a  little while
ere I attempt a wry, uncertain smile.
The dentist has prepared the lignocaine:
the time has come.

Joan Butler