A walker sitting down for a rest,
dressed in yesterdays clothes,
thought and reminisced
about yesterdays abodes.

Lest it be that he is waiting
for winter to be over.
Looking ahead he spots
a road, he's never walked before.

Something drove her to mark her I's
with dots shaped as planets, so natural
and round.

The waiter sits as his walking side hits him with another thought.
One of tomorrow, one of risk, not safe and sound.

The sitter walks in time whenever he has to go, he goes.
He's patient for the best or nothing.