A Secretary or a Waitress
The leaves rustle
A windswept autumn melody,
I walk alone the urban streets
Of beautiful sadness;
The grey sky is dangling
The threat of a slow, lonely rain.
I follow a blowing newspaper
To a cold corner bus stop
And gaze at a secretary or a waitress
Making her way home.
If I’m still walking at midnight,
There will be rats and raccoons to greet
In some alley of despair,
And there is always a stray thought
Trying to remember the last person I loved.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Added by Poetry Lover
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