Joan awoke and rolled into her nightstand,
She couldn’t sleep because of the apathetic ghosts.
There was a book she hadn’t solved and a half drunk can.
The uneven comforter bothered her the most.

She threw on a cardigan and stumbled out of her room.
She threw a tape into the VCR.
The men inside were saying lots of nothing;
She figured not paying attention was for the best.

The window showed the grass was barely covered.
It wasn’t special that there was snow in June.
She opened the door and tripped on her sobriety;
The blood from her knee blended into the sweater’s maroon.

She picked herself up and went to the corner,
She saw a man who’d long ago gone dry.
Joan wondered why they even kept on trying;
The thought alone was enough to make her cry.

Joan kept walking and saw a lonely bird sing.
She thought to herself “he’s gonna miss his chance,”
When suddenly she heard the church bell ring.
When she was knee deep in snow, Joan fell into a trance.

When she awoke she saw the dawn of loving.
The bird was dead before her, but with another.
She looked down and said, “what a bittersweet thing.”
“He may have perished, but he found his lover.”