ODE TO A BUS STOP A rough patch on the pavement Marks the spot where it once stood The oft remembered bus stop Where we met up when we could That old beloved meeting place Which somehow sealed our fate, Where you were always early And I was always late. That old and lovely bus, Where we loitered, laughed and talked, Which, long before we reached it,We saw it as we walked. The bus shelter has gone as well, Always worn out and old, Where we found lots of lovely ways Of keeping out the cold. Our kids now walk the other way To catch a local bus, There is no shelter there for them, Not like there was for us. Their meetings are more sheltered, In laser-lighted din, Rosamund Browne - She retained the last two lines.
Peter Wright ● 6700d