I thought you were a ghost
when I first saw you hovering there,
ethereal and vaporous.
You were lost,
you wore wisteria in your hair,
diaphanous.
You crossed
the street and we sat there
as I waited for the bus.
In your gypsy dress you tossed
your skirts with flare,
beauteous.
I stood up to see
if my bus was in sight
and when I glanced back
all I saw was a sprig of wistera.
Your absence
haunts me.
Sonny Rainshine
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-girl-at-the-bus-stop/
