The Bakery

My most recent poem. Enjoy!

The Bakery

He was a painter.

His sketchbooks were filled,

With that same sly smile.

He never had blue paint,

He used it all in her eyes.

His brushes were worn,

And his paints drying,

That day in the bakery window.

She was poet.

Her journals were filled,

With phrases of greeting.

Words were her company,

And pens her consult.

Her journal was torn,

and her pencil dull,

That day in the bakery window.

Had he known that sweet phrase,

He'd have said it sooner.

And had she known he loved blue,

She'd have looked at him quicker.

But today in the bakery window,

she turns and smiles,

as he tells her hello.