Saturday In the Park
He, a man the artist thinks he will never know,
Stroked her, another stranger and maybe his wife,
Matching white hair shines in the sunshine
The artist, soul deep and single,
Follows every line of their love with his pencil
So intent he doesn't notice the approaching shadow.
"They're beautiful in real life too, aren't they?"
Her voice was as gorgeous as she
The artist saw when he looked up into her eyes
"Yes," the artist sighs.
"They are my grandparents. Today is they're seventieth anniversary and we have all come
to this park where they met to celebrate." The artist's dream explained.
"Oh," Is all the artist knows to say. He couldn't imagine a love so long lasting.
"I want to buy that when you finish," the granddaughter insists.
"Oh, no, I'll give it to them. My gift." The artist insists and wins. He grins and she grins
Perhaps in seventy years they will pose unknowingly in the park for another young artist.
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