View From a Bench
One girl among a throng—
no, declared her swaying hips,
to woman she had bloomed—
Whose pert young face I’d never glimpsed
(until that instant,
from mall’s bench)
By passing, merely,
eyes so bright
and sweater shapely,
Touched off a vestige
of youthful years
and adolescence lost.
Copyright © David Bose | Year Posted 2016
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