A tiny red-brick house, a street inclined
For sledding: steep, and treacherous for cars
And small pedestrians. Where coal was mined
Nearby. The neighbor had no time for bars,
But coming home from work, he liked a beer.
His wife would pour a glass, and just a bit
To give the little girl next door. She'd hear
Them say Hello; together they would sit,
The neighbor and the five-year-old, and chat.
He drank his glass, and she would sip her shot,
And then they'd talk at length of this and that.
The house is there today, the neighbor's not.
His memory remains, though slightly dim.
Today she saw the house, and thought of him.