To look out from a window
on a quiet afternoon
across the lonely London street
and beyond the quiet park -
The wind whispers round the leaves.



Sitting on the bench, a man
who reads his papers quietly
his faithful friend sitting beside.
A couple strolls around the block
their child in a carriage -
The murmur of their voices.



On this quiet afternoon
I sit and watch
and hear stray notes,
an aspiring pianist upstairs -
The sound of jazz piano plays distantly.



I could stay here for a long while

even for years, and I'd be happy -
though, perhaps, not forever.



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