Yam

A soft gnawing in your head reminds you,
that you’re not here to stay, its just a quick stop,
on your way to a destination,
that sends you back to your origin,
the engine wails on a sad note,
regretful that it has to take you with it.
But the lady holding your hand on this stop,
filled with welling tears in her soul,
writhes to let you go, the ignorant lass,
unknowing that she will be on the next bogey,
wasting the chance to flit around,
spreading the cheer among those,
who await their turn,
on the next bogey.