The Bus Stop


Raindrops that echo against a glass pane,

And rivulets of water that run through the grain,

An old wooden stand that shelters the bleary,

The workers, the travellers, the old and the weary.


The yellows and browns, oranges and blues,

The purples and greens and iridescent hues.

A shield of umbrellas that cocoon the intrepid,

The foot soaked army of the wet heavy headed.


A girl with a teddy bear holds a warm hand,

And listens to voices she cannot understand,

Whispers of memories and hopes still to come,

Echoes that ricochet then scatter so random.


The bus stop is teeming with bodies’ en mass,

There is no disparity and no difference in class,

The poor and the lowly the rich and the bright,

Await their own passage and a fleeting respite.


15 thoughts on “The Bus Stop

  1. Ahhh…what a beautiful warming and humbling poem Melady 🙂
    Nature seems to be the only things which discriminates not huh? We all seek shelter,even from the most pleasant of drops.

    I smiled as I read this, those cold rainy days of London and my babies finding warmth in my embrace and touch as we stand in our very own shelter waiting for the 18 from Sudbury.
    Beautiful imagery, calming rhymes.

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