menopausal mood

A single tear would take away the pain, I think

But none will come for gambles such as this

For floods of tears would be a step too near the brink

And throw my used up sould in the abyss.

There was a time when sobbing meant an easy ride,

A bevy of young men to dry my tears.

A showering of compliments to heal my pride,

A warm embrace to cast away my fears.

But now a million years have passed and I'm too old.

Too old for anyone to give a damn.

My soul is just as fragile and my body's cold,

but all that's left to warm me is a dram.

So what is left for me now? Shall I sink or swim?

Sinking seems by far the better bet.

I'll plunge into that gaping hole of hope so dim

And slowly fade away with no regret.