December's chill, now biting
Sit in the garden, still
Constantly observing
A chattering, passing world
Amused in my isolation
But, often stand accused
Degenerate in my cynisism
You, never lose your cool
Thinking of Amelia
Once reflected in the pool.

Now it seems to be a fashion
Braiding flowers in your hair
Never beg, nor seek askance
Just steal a surreptitious stare
Absinthé is no inspiration
Just simply cease to care
The Trainspotting generation
Can you say you were there?
Do you recall Amelia
Today, she is not there.