It is a quiet road
Rough and un-shaven
Old trees hung over it
In the mist of October morning
A passerby, unshaven as the road itself
Stops at the corner to look back
A woman of faded beauty
From her porch is observing
The man, road and the mist
Her paled face is the dawn
Her empty look is the dusk
Standing still in frozen time
Waiting for the one who never
Will pass her porch again
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