The Woman At the Bus Stop

I pass her every single day While on my morning walk But rarely give a second glance; There is no cause to gawk. She’s sitting on the bus stop bench Protected from the rain With coffee or a snack at hand, Her clothing neat and plain. Today she read the paper, Which I do each day as well, Yet she has never noticed me, As far as I can tell. You may wonder why this ordinary Person’s in my poem. Here’s the answer – she intrigues me For the bus stop is her home.