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Glances

That face
In the sea  of humanity,
Like the poppy
In a bed of pansies
Strikes out
With its red
And the stigma
Protrudes black.

The bob-cut of her hair,
Neat and clean
As they come;
Quarrelling with the ears
At each  nod or turn.
Those eyes throwing glances,
On the pavements she stands;
Waiting for the bus.

And then
She rides away.





Author notes

This poem was written about 25 years ago. I was standing waiting for a bus when I saw this girl.
The funny part is that I missed this bus I was supposed to take; and saw her calmly riding in it.
Lol
A blundering fool.
But it happens in life.

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