Five forty-eight in the evening
I sat on the concrete bench heaving
By the side of the street near the park
There where the world ends and the grass begins
And waited for the street lamp to come on.
I twiddled my fingers and trained my eyes
On the barren bulb
Towards the skies.
Five fifty-eight in the evening
The street lamp is not yet breathing
But here it comes now
The golden glow
The warmth of a hearth.
I wonder from where it had come
I wonder whom it was from
I get up and return to my life.
I will be back tomorrow.