Posted by: Ron DuBour | April 7, 2016

Sixty Seconds Late~by Norman Wilson


 

 

Sixty Seconds Late

Is this the minute
The minute after nine
Is this the minute
Where the second hand has to climb

Shall I keep waiting
For my date
It is sixty seconds after
And my darling sweetheart is late

The stars have not moved yet
Nor has the moon
Yet she leaves me wondering
Will she be here soon

It is now two minutes after
Two minutes left without her laughter
And the joy of seeing her rosy face
Under the streetlight at our favourite meeting place

The second hand keeps climbing
Erasing away the date
As the streetlight starts to dim
After she is three hours late

It is the year nineteen-sixty-nine
And I cannot text her by phone
For they have not invented I-Pad yet
As I cried all the way home

Love is a strange thing
It can be on time or late
Then there is always that one time
Another man has stolen your date

All rights reserved 03/29/16
Norman Francis


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