wb :

another day in that same old park
stretched out upon the stone bench,
counting the stars with tearful eyes,

looking at the trees
the bare branches of winter,

wishing the night would creep a little faster,
steal his way past the curtains of dusk
and cast his cloak over sleepy sunsets

when i heard a little whistle
coming down the lonely path

there she was;

and she sang,
'i look up when i walk
so the tears won't fall,'

and went away, whistling that old song
even as the curtain drew
leaving me
a muted audience in an empty theatre
the lights dimmed to darkness.

but i was there the next day.
the stone bench stood fast
the trees whispered in the wind
the stars held their silent vigil

while i looked up at the sky,
wondering where beyond the blue
lay happiness

and i wished that dusk would tread a little slower,
wished that night would take a little longer,

so that i might catch that wandering whistle

one last time

Labels: poetry