Froth of a sort can fill the emptiness;
Activity suffices for a while.
What it produces isn't happiness,
But isn't sadness, and sometimes can smile,
So it will do. It whiles time away,
Pushing aside a little of the gap
Between the visits, coloring the gray.
But this soft methadone is just a trap:
For when it ceases, the withdrawal pains
Can be far worse than what there was before,
Negating what had seemed to be the gains
It brought, leaving a pain increased the more
By past palliation. Now all that is there
Is absence lingered out in constant care.
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