The winter afternoon’s dim 

Dimmer still the light through the pub window

Under which two wan people sit

Facing

She, her eyes touched with tears

He sad

They’ve had a visit from an old enemy

Mr Money’s-short-and-it’s-Christmas-time

And the drinks don’t do much

They talk it out and, hearts half healed,

They leave. Another caller comes

As they shop and talk and wait for the bus

He has not much to say

And his title’s short, though they’ve known him long

Mr I-love-you, Mr I-love-you

And within an hour they’re laughing

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