The Wait

In a hundred days, it has seen me, A thousand times, by the old tree, A tomb, atleast for me, that still sings, The old tales, I sit on the worn out bench, Below the wornout street lamp, as if, The world moved on but it remained stiff. Quite silly of me to wait, but I can't resist, As the night falls, the thoughts still persist, But with time I see the lights flicker and shut, With it, I take leave of the place but, The thoughts still persist and they call, "When we meet again, this promise you will recall."