There is an air of defeated exhaustion 

Lives well lived but not lived at all 

These are opening lines 

Of a poem that Joye had written 

I was impressed but jealous of her pen 

She is a cool blonde 

Who always seems to have a hint 

Of a smile ready to break her lips 

She owns a glass lady 

Which is kept on a high shelf 

A present from an admirer 

Now long dead 

I still have his hypodermic

Sealed in a glass jar 

I have named it Colin Barrett 

After one of my teachers