It is the last of such a simple thing

For a long while.

The mind likes to catalogue

All the heartaches, large and small.

 

But I think I must be stronger now,

Or have had the sentiment burned out of me,

For though this is the last breakfast in America,

And I have always hated goodbyes and that gaping unknown

We call the future,

I am not beside myself,

Nor in tears.

I am just having breakfast in America.