One afternoon, one bus stop,
An old man sat down there.
Quietly as he stares,
Ignoring the glances people give,
Sitting there, quietly, quietly.
What is he doing?
Looking for?
Into the past, a once young man?
Rich perhaps? Some millionaire?
But he sat there, quietly, quietly.
People walk by and wonder,
What is he doing here?
Once bus came, one bus left.
But never an inch he move,
Just sitting there, quietly, quietly.
What is he doing?
Looking for?
Into the future, his grandson’s birth?
Boy perhaps? And rosy red cheeks?
But he sat there, quietly, quietly.
Finally, what he is waiting for,
It came and it stop.
The old man stood up,
Smile and get on his bus,
Arriving his destination on the dot.