Suddenly lost, and looking forlorn,
They ask time, "Where have you gone?
My first grandchild has just been born,
and I have a duty to make him belong.
Can't you see it's not time yet to mourn?

Upon the lit, late, night-blue sky,
Lay a queen cutting into her chocolate pie;
Dining astern in a wrecked ghostly ship,
Humming herself quietly the company she’d keep.

There used to be a little girl,
Of age no more than nine. 
She used to love her little tree, 
With its branches and leaves just fine.