Sunday, late afternoon, Leaving on time, But leaving too soon, Pulling apart, Out of the station, Different direction, Different location. Chugging, straining, Dragging their heels,
The silence was deafening that day, The air heavy, With everything They could not say. And the sickly Sweet smell Of the lilies, Suffocating. My face aching, From offering smiles
For many years it was lost But the thing that it was meant to represent Went from strength to strength. They used to see it in the window of the shop, And she would check his pocket