The Lady in the Cafe


The Automat (by Edward Hopper)
The Lady in the Cafe (by LGS)
 
I saw her again today,
As she took her regular seat,
In the corner of the café,
Her early morning retreat.
 
She’s always so neatly dressed,
As if every fold was in its place,
And every crease perfectly pressed,
A picture of quiet, elegant grace.
 
With her soft and gentle voice,
She places her breakfast order;
It’s almost always the same choice,
A couple of eggs easy over.
 
Though for a drink, she orders coffee,
Her eyes are not dreary from slumber;
Rather, they seem bright and perky,
Lying about the emptiness within her.
 
While she waits, she sits proper and prim,
Her hands resting upon the table,
Her painted smile begins to pull thin,
As her façade begins to crumble.
 
She sits there, hoping no one sees her,
Yet really wishing someone does;
Her heart sorely longs for adventure,
But cannot bear to face her fears.
 
She hopes that no one pities her,
For she has loved and been loved;
When she closes her eyes and remember,
She can feel the touch of her beloved.
 
And so she is there every morning,
Sitting in the corner of the café,
Never letting others come in,
Lest she allows him to fade away.
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