diary entry

Eleanor,
Eleanor he used to call me
in our later years.
In the decade of "free love",
the little whores.

Sweetheart
Swetheart he used to call me
in the best years.
When the milk was still delivered
by that nice jigaboo.

Hi
Hi he used to call me
in the early years.
When he was too nervous
to say anything else.

The seasons have come and passed.
And now autumn has come again.
Soon I will see him again.
For I have become
a buttercup of autumn.