She walked slowly by the pieces of the past
Scarf wrapped up to her short-cropped hair
Somewhat out of place with Hepburn flair
Stubbornly, She’s stuck with a style that lasts.
She made her way to the café window table
Oblivious to her surroundings she went on-line
Reading, renewing and restoring lives entwined
Only pausing for an infrequent nibble on a bagel
He pictured her in front of bustling Paris street,
Much easier to finish the plot without any words
And on cue the music switched to jig on a dulcimer
He needed to leave and folded up his vision complete.
There you go, strangers at noon and never love.
He looked back and she was gone from her chair
Chuckled to himself, “was it real or just a dare”
The devil had dialed up one that would fit like a glove.
By Dave Schipper
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I did end tweaking it into a song: