Bus traveling down the road.
Filled are the seats with a varied load.
Moving home at the evening rush hour.
Faces relaxed, happy, or dour.
Two women talked of the day.
Lost in the words that each would say.
Behind them a rider known by one in the past,
Parted by space and times growing vast.
Curly golden locks fell over the seat.
A hand slowly moved to touch a lost treat.
Barely touching, to catch just the whisper of hair.
Not wanting to frighten, or make her beware.
The bus stopped at the depot gate.
Hair moved quickly, not wanting to be late.
He sat delayed on the hard bus seat,
And watched as she moved on dancing feet.
More than the seat had separated the two.
The uniform and time had hidden him from view.

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