There’s a place in the garden
where I hold all my tea parties
with the Hare and the Hatter and the Dormouse,
with miniature teapots and saucers and cups
and biscuits with butter cream filling.  

There’s a place in the garden with an empty chair.
The Rabbit, the Dormouse and the Hatter are there
but I’m missing the one who made everything fun
with her laughter and silliness in the sun. 

We wore hats from the Hatter,
we told time with the Hare,
and the Dormouse in his cups did not care.  

Has enough time gone by that you’d join me again?
Have enough moments passed that you’ll forgive in the end?
Have we pouted and sweated and cussed
to show that we’ve finally suffered enough?