The Cute Old Couple in Their Booth

The Cute Old Couple In Their Booth Like clockwork, every Sunday They arrive at the doors Of their favorite eatery, As countless times before The familiar waitress smiles, Bids them in; Their morning ritual about to begin. No need for menus: The order well known Staff has already set the places The progression set in stone The world moves on its way without As they settle down within Their booth, their morning ritual to begin. They seem to study their cellphones, Sharing news of the coming day But beneath the simple exchange A deeper one holds sway; A converse of thought Built up upon feelings, year upon year He remembers her songs, She remembers his jokes Painting their lives with sure, beautiful strokes They remember the wrongs As well as the rights They shared upon thousands of thousands of nights They shared with each other the subtle truths Gained through the experience of misspent youth Now turned to wisdom, As they sit pensive in their booth. All this in silence, All unspoken truth, As they simply chatter within their booth. True to themselves, what else could matter? As she is his woman, As he is her man - The fundamental tale, since the world began - All things accepted, no sorrow nor ruth They remain, as ever, the cute old couple in their booth.