That Tuesday

It’s Tuesday,
A dusty dreary day;
Lonely hall,
Companion of the fall;
Marbled bench,
Beside a mud stained trench;
I sit down,
In distant mem’ries drown.

Puffy clouds,
The sky in dark tone shrouds;

Hazy hills,
Concealed within — sweet rills;
Wintry breeze,
Shivering hands — they freeze.
A long wait,
Three hours art any rate;

To survive,
Or even better — thrive
Midst the deep
If torpor — hope I keep.
But alas!
Restless — give up I must.
Patience stalls,
The voice of boredom calls.

Then I hear,
Soft footsteps closing near.
That fond voice
Before which had no choice;
At whose sounds
Happiness knows no bounds.
So we sat
And for long did we chat;

Of new days
And hopes of sunny Mays;
About life,
Wonderful love and strife.

We argued,
Teddies, barbies — which’s cute?
Dark or light —

What impels men to fight?

The ground chafed
But we made faces, laughed;
All the care,
Abandoned in thin air;
How time flew!
The swift winds never knew.
The sky’s hue

Had since turned brightly blue.
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