WAITING
One night when the wind made the trees scream with pain
And down in heavy torrents poured the unrelenting rain,
I stood watching folks hurrying to the shelter of home,
Not wanting to stay outside, not wanting very far to roam.

Beside the bus stop a man stood, soaked through to the bone,
He braced himself against the wind, why didn’t he go home?
A bus came, it’s lights peeping through the heavy pouring rain.
He looked, stepped forward anxiously, then stepped back again.

The same thing happened when the next bus came along,
He looked at each face before they blended into the throng.
One by one the buses came and went, he still quietly stayed
Then through the rain I saw him bow his head and he prayed.

Another bus came into view, the man’s hopes were wearing thin,
I’d prayed that his prayer be answered in the next bus that came in.
But this time the bus did not even stop to let one person out,
My heart ached for the man, “Come home.” I wanted to shout.

Slowly the man turned wearily he began to walk away,
I wondered, would he come back and wait another day?
You could not tell if there were tears running down his face,
But a sigh was heard above the wind as he walked at a slow pace.

One more bus was coming, the last run on that cold, wet night,
It was slowing down, stopping, a young boy did timidly alight,
The two walked to meet, two sets of eyes smiled as they met,
No words were spoken, yet warmth came on that night so wet.

M Ann Margetson © September 9, 2001