The Search

We use the same footpath,
the serpentine brown length,
that divides the meadow in two equal halves.

On one side, where the green is bushy and thick,
I sing my songs, and on the other,
where trees are tall but thin,
she broods on her past.

A boy meanders his way on a bicycle
whistling a tune so dear to me, and
probably to her as well, for, for a while
her lips quiver and  eyes shine.

But strangely the boy appears only at twilight,
using the same footpath that we created,
and fades in the woods beyond the meadow,
there the leaves rustle and twigs tweak
as whistling merges into silence of night.
Does he stay amongst the trees now?
--

c s shah