The Waiting

The sky is a rose this evening. The country is still and hush. And a lady in love lies against the glass, Her cheeks are filled with blush. The road she watches never changes. The grass there hardly grows. For when one waits, as does she... Time increasingly slows. Poor girl... poor lady... poor mother. I'm leaning against her door. But while she waits for what is gone, She is seeing her child no more. The woman I'm watching is changing. And with aging, has grayed at last. For when one waits, as do I... Time is incredibly... fast.