Borderman
Borderman glided through the station
Beautiful, skirted, a blouse, about thirty
A ticket with her name was clearly stated
Held in a white gloved hand if not mistaken
A woman of the world from some existence missing
It is not polite to question romance at a glance
With someone sporting jet black hair
A smile, large brown eyes and glasses
She grabbed my arm in cadence with our jaunt
As if we were married partners on a walk
Perhaps a movie or a park could be imagined
Let us pray for happy days and babies in the future
To find such harmony by chance
Borderman was calmer than the wind she floated in on
She left as quickly as she came
Station life can be so frantic
I hope she made her final destination
Things will never be the same without a stranger
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