Waiting For A Good Man

Waiting For A Good Man

I sat down quiet on this old bench,

Red dress gathered around my bones,

The road kept breathing dust and silence,

Still no footsteps coming home.

I watched the seasons pass me by,

Fields turning gold then back to grey,

Men drove past with empty promises,

None of them chose to stay.

They spoke sweet words like borrowed coins,

Bright for a moment then quickly gone,

So I folded patience in my lap,

And simply carried on.

My hair grew long with passing years,

Hope thinned slowly like morning mist,

I kept a space beside my heart,

For a man who truly exists.

The sign beside me says it plain,

Waiting for the perfect man,

Funny thing about perfect dreams,

They fade before they land.

Now I sit light as drifting dust,

Still dressed in red, still looking far,

Tell me dear world, was I foolish,

Or were the good men always rare?

If one comes walking down this road,

Honest eyes and steady hand,

He will find me patient still,

A woman who chose to stand.

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