As I drink my hot curry soup

Melancholy love songs loop.

The same thoughts go round and round

Of waitresses who have come and gone.

Sometimes my thoughts are profound.

At other times I tempt with rhymes

A waitress who likes poetry.

But I have found

My verse can not undress a waitress

For my brief rhyme

Is out of time

And I am growing old.

So I drink my hot curry soup

As the music loops around.

And then go home alone.