Walking to the bus stop,
one lady sitting down with her bags,
while a boy a distance away stands.
Lots of room left on the seat,
yet still he remains on his feet.
I sit next to the lady,
resting my heavy back-pack on my lap.
We chat and chat,
while the boy,
shifts on his feet,
front to back.
We talk about useful bags for travelling,
and we both speak of our love of singing.
She had piano lessons earlier today,
and was on her way to sing in Sassafras.
To sing of God,
on this warm summer day.
A line of kids continue to pile up next to the seat,
yet no one else sits.
Until another lady with bags joins us,
whom we both greet.
Her face lights up,
as we talk more of music,
and of her choir,
of what they sing,
and other things required.
Then her eyes lower,
and darken in gaze.
As she speaks of her bad health,
and how medical costs take most of her wage.
I feel for the woman,
as I sit and listen.
And feel amazed,
how happy and sad I feel,
in one rare conversation.
I offer her the sympathy,
I can seem to muster.
Since my life seems so distant,
from the realities she must suffer.
But she speaks of music once more,
raving about the Millennium Chorus group,
and the songs she adores.
I give her my best wishes with her singing and her health,
as my bus pulls up to the stop.
And I think of how our small worlds,
expanded just that little bit more,
in such a moment,
I board the bus,
resuming my position,
as a girl,
who’s only purpose and mission,
was making her way to work,
without any other condition.