4 'oclock in the park,
waiting, whiling away the minutes,
notepad and pen to record airy thoughts.

"what breeze this playing light,
upon my sweetest demeaner.
Children laugh a distant song,
blessing a life much keener."

Timepiece an after-thought now,
is that 5 minutes or 10, is she late?
Distraction surely the key.

"the density of short grass holds sway,
in the mire of such sunshiny day.
And the wall of fresh air blocks the flow,
for the world in the park runs so slow."

Pondering upon 'what-ifs' and 'maybe's' now,
in an unfocussed look around the world
no sight of love nor discovery bestowed.

"so many routines pass judgement,
upon the idle curiosity that is poet.
See me writing report or lists or doodlings,
only art to those few who know it!"

Direction is suddenly confused to me,
knowing North and yet not her direction
looking about, deranged, finding my pen.

"balls seem to set the pace in the park,
for the boys and the men to make their mark.
The golfers sedate and worried frown,
a footballers flamboyance earns his crown"

Wondering why only the rendezvous' attract,
to this green and tranquil place,
maybe another time ... and yet she owns my time.

"pushchairs and prams compete
with cyclists and joggers sweat,
with the readers and the walkers,
and the lovers that haven't yet met."

and then I know that she's there,
and my eyes are drawn to her walk,
and she smiles for me and I love her.

I lay down my pen knowing she will want to hear my scribbles
and I read melancholly to her,
knowing my words are mere greys besides her rainbow smile,
and yet still she smiles for me.