THE MAN WHO WALKED ON
I walked past her house, yesterday
and, as always, my eyes did stray
towards that window, veiled in drapes.
Slightly pulled, that curtain was
or was it my imagination, because
as always, her face I wanted to glimpse?
From within her lair, does she watch me
too,
does she wonder what I do
after I pass her house each day?
We're two of a kind, the lady and me
I wonder what we'd do if we
were to actually meet, face to face?
I think maybe it's better this way
for if we met, we'd have nothing to say
for though so alike, we are strangers.
So I'll continue on my way
and as always, tomorrow I'll come this way
and glance at her window and then walk on.
And throughout each day I'll think of her
and dream of a meeting that must never occur,
least the mystery be shattered.
And each day, when that curtain moves
and a sliver of sunlight enters her room
my lonely heart, too, will be filled with light.
© Lynn McCorry 1995
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