We used to get together every week
for dinner, drinks, perhaps a game or two;
we'd laugh and sing, and most important, speak,
about the wondrous things we planned to do.
And then we did those things--the babies came,
we all found jobs that challenged and paid well;
our dinners, less frequent, were not the same.
We laughed less, and had not so much to tell.
The children grew, the jobs demanded more,
and now we barely even telephone;
We hardly ever sing, but do drink more--
though now we do it somber, and alone.
Remember all those games we used to play?
I can't think now just what I meant to say.
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