Vilmos Zoltan Galyo Poet Free verse

A Crying Lady

A Crying Lady 

Not too long ago, on the train, I saw a lady. Young, slim, intelligent eyes
Nice face. Oh, very likable. Light brown back-tied hair. Lovely. She cried
She sat shyly. She was alone. She waved her beautiful legs in front of me

I sat on the side seat. She was sitting in the back of the direction of travel
                                                                             Perpendicularly to me
She was alone. Very young lady. Magnetic. She was sad. Sad.
I think she was a Polish woman. Maybe Ukrainian. Hmm. She was Polish
She watched me. Like a sister. Her gaze asked for friendship.
                                                                      Polish and Hungarian are friends

What happened with her?
Or just? Yes, this is the answer
She experienced imaginary romantic moments
This lady was so young. Around twenty-five
I marvelled at her beautiful lines and her kind, pretty face
I read my book, but sometimes I took a look at her. Magical phenomenon
“The next station is Baker Street!” Said the speakers. 
My book is closed. I stood up and looked at the lady
“Goodbye. All the best.” I said goodbye to her in a friendly way
She looked up at me. She cried. She said in a velvety voice, “Goodbye”.

Train stopped
Then I got out

This woman was crying
Spring was the reason

Spring
Young love
Illusion

Let’s go
To work

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