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.