Borderman

Borderman glided through the station Beautiful, skirted, a blouse, about thirty A ticket with her name was clearly stated Held in a white gloved hand if not mistaken A woman of the world from some existence missing It is not polite to question romance at a glance With someone sporting jet black hair A smile, large brown eyes and glasses She grabbed my arm in cadence with our jaunt As if we were married partners on a walk Perhaps a movie or a park could be imagined Let us pray for happy days and babies in the future To find such harmony by chance Borderman was calmer than the wind she floated in on She left as quickly as she came Station life can be so frantic I hope she made her final destination Things will never be the same without a stranger