She owns an engraved invitation,
permanent, though we seldom expect her.
Still, she comes never too early,
ever punctually on the dot.
When we hear her at our door,
no time for last second house cleaning,
cake baking,
“Is there enough wine in the cellar, Dear?”
Regardless of the reason or the season
for the party,
her themeless arrival defies forcast.
But, when this reveler arrives,
the party’s over
and we have danced with clumsy step or grace
to the music that’s been played.