A Lady on Bourke in Greying Light
Upon the cobbles of Bourke Street fair,
Where trams do hum through autumn air,
A lady passed in monochrome,
Her youth aglow though shades had grown.
She walked alone, yet not alone,
For in her ears sweet tunes had flown,
A Walkman played its whispered song,
A timeworn tape that sang along.
Her tresses curled like drifting flame,
Though black and white concealed her name,
She bore her spoils in papered grace,
From shops agleam in city’s face.
A bum bag slung with no pretense,
‘Twixt fashion’s flair and innocence,
She paused beneath the falling leaves,
As dusk drew in on gentle eves.
No winter yet, but chill in shade,
The light grew thin, yet undismayed,
She danced in step with music’s flow,
A fleeting ghost from long ago.
And though the years may swiftly pass,
Like tramlines threading panes of glass,
Still in that frame she softly stands—
A song, a stroll, two listening hands.
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