I see her there every afternoon
As I walk home from the bus stop.
She sits in her rocking chair
Behind the glass of the big bay window,
Gazing out at something only she can see.
Cast in bronze by the late afternoon sun,
She doesn’t move or return my wave.
But a gentle smile graces her lips,
As she wanders though the mists of yesterday,
Visiting moments more joyful than this one.