He sits and waits
An old man remembering young love...
He sits and waits In the doorway of the cafe Shaded from the heat of the summer sun. His chin hunched upon his stick, He sits and waits And he looks, Watching beautiful young couples passing by, Arm in arm, In suits, and loose ties, shirts grimed with sweat And tiny patterned summer dresses, Slung over beautifully curved frames. He smiles a wry smile, Because it’s their turn, he mutters It’s their turn. But still he waits...