Our Wayward Thoughts

We won't be marshalling our wayward thoughts
Any time soon: the store won't reimburse
Our purchase price; the rain won't stop; the nurse
Won't use a finer needle; there were shots
Fired in the parking lot; our newest pots
Are ruined now; a minute will reverse
Our best decisions; they were speaking Erse
At your last trial; those aren't sailors' knots.

We'll face the music and the end with pride,
Recalling nothing, dreaming everything,
Enthralled by Minotaurs, intrigued by string.
Insisting on our dignity and tied
To honour, and with honour fortified,
We'll have a small glass of port wine and sing.