Bus Stop

August 14, 2009
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If I said her pink socks, with cute little flowers on them,

In white tennis shoes worn from years of use,



If I said her perfume smelled of sweet vanilla,

Filling my nostrils with the loveliness scent of euphoria,



If I said she had a tiny little bell on her necklace,

A charm giving luck with every ting,



If I said her rosy lips, so small and so yearning

Stretched out to grab her dimples,



If I said her golden hair, with small slivers of brown,

Waved like a thousand oceans as the wind past through,



Would you say I was in love?



I wouldn’t.

She was a stranger,

walking by

As I sat on the bench.

Oh the bus is here!





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