Bus Stop

A seat. a street, it's ten past four.
A train, a bus, people galore
Fill the seat that's in the street
At ten past four.

And I drive by — and my eyes
Search the seat that's in the street
For the one I loved so well
At ten past four.

I see the children out of school
A uniform, but it's not you
Though memories give a different form
In the same uniform.

The seat's now empty, as is the street
At ten past four;
For the one I'm looking for
Will never he there as before
At ten past four.

                  © Helen Catherine Cramer
                              28th November 198I

Home Poetry Index Tomorrow's Dawn Poetry Index