This Mortal Coil

The kettle's on, the sun has gone, another day.
She oiffers me Tibetan tea on a flower tray.
She's at the door, she wants to score.
She really needs to say.
I loved you a long time ago, you know.
Where the wind's own forget-me-nots blow.
But I just couldn't let myself go.
Not knowing what on earth there was to know.
But I wish that I had 'cause I'm feeling so sad.
That I never had one of your children.
Across the room, inside the tomb, a chance has waxed and waned.