I sit here, looking at you by the window (French doors)
The window to the street; open and a July's stormy wind whispering through the open pane

The sky darkens and the dry dust is touched by falling pellets of rain

The staff go to close the open glass

But you sit by the window untouched by the falling sound of water; eyes only for your friend

And people walk past in the street
Some stop and read the fare
But you seem not to notice as they decide their choice

As I watch I wonder what words you listen to so eagerly as the wind begins to chill