Sitting in a frozen plane
Hands flicking air from his legs
The old man waits, feet knotting his best socks.
The cold air trembles from his nose
As, looking up and down the path,
His eyes jerk from woman to girl.
He sits watching with leaden eyes,
Their life growing and receding as the women pass by,
While in the surrounding brown and withered trees
Starlings and pigeons coo and sigh
Falling and rising as dead leaves in a sudden breeze.
The old man's legs weave and separate,
Twisting his trousers up legs
Made wan by years of darkness.
On his face, on brows made grey by waiting,
Settles a pinch, adding one more line
To a sheet composed by passing time.
Once again, as oft in the past,
The old man sighs,
And rising to stand on feet
Made hard by years of pacing,
He slowly moves away.