The date was just for coffee. Only that,
A brisk October night. And when she smiled
And stepped inside the door, from where he sat,
As nervous maybe, as a stubborn child
Prepared to face a stern piano master
Because he hadn't practiced, his surprise
Was comfort. Secret inklings of - disaster?
Were quieted, by warm, familiar eyes,
Her open coat, and scarf. He liked the fall,
And faces wrapped in wools, and woven things.
She sat, took in the menu on the wall;
He studied her. She wore a pair of rings
He'd never noticed. Silver. And the street
Beyond her, through the window; and the lights
Of cars and shops. He ordered soup to eat,
And she her coffee. These forgotten sights,
The comings and the goings just outside,
A window to it all; a woman's smile,
The feelings that he'd tried so long to hide.
He hadn't thought of autumn for a while.
He hadn't thought of prettiness at night,
Or listening to stories, or delight.