She thought he had said
He’d be there at six,
Come to pick her up

For a drink and chat;
But he hadn’t come,
Had not yet arrived,

And the window showed
Nothing but a moon,
And sky grown darker

By the winter’s black;
And she waiting dressed
To the nines and smart,

With a vacant space
In her lonely heart.
But she knew quite well

What these young men were,
Knew that their smooth words
Came cheaper than wine;

But she’d wait till nine,
Then she’d dine alone
And listen to wind’s moan.