I found myself in a picturesque park a fine May day,
As a solitary rambler
styled genteel and gay,
Neither among the picnickers whose children loosely away,
Nor young skaters shooting in turns off the bay.
On a bench that half remained empty I used to read,
And converse with a child
fiddling with a weed.
Many a time my friend-seek generated sharper agony,
An expat had only mother nature as company.
Not to live a mute I had to break the ice,
I determined to talk
to whoever appeared to be nice.
A girl walked by all alone, but, to music did she chant;
The man under the willow, no way,check those low rise pants!
Family playground to flower block,
Sports field and back to stream walk.
I looked genteel and gay rambling in the park,
Melancholy heart falling like sunset
Till I saw her on the bench reading a book,
”May I sit next to you, please?”
timid as how I should look.
But how we enjoyed the following conversation,
next to that cluster of red carnation.
“You made my day,” she took words out of my month,
“Thank you ever so for talking with me.”