Wisdom of Error
The pretty girl on the bus makes me sad. She is beautiful in toque and scarf but I'm
not ready for winter. Her hair is drawn back in woollen grip; the hat is black though
she wears it in bright pink. The red of her scarf lights the dapper down jacket of
winter. I wish to sing to her and whisper my wisdom of error. She grins as I
purposefully walk by again, she knows and I adore that because she is sheepish
and bashful yet courageous in hesitation. The bus is empty but I choose her
immediate right and she sighs in thanks. I ask her name to which she announces
Sarah, I am overjoyed by the simple beauty but my 'membrance of all life’s glory in a
single package anoints my lust for life and love lost. She shies sensing my usage of
her in character and I back peddle seeking soon required response to the foreseen.
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