This could be a true story
Before I'm through you'll feel that way
I sit on a bench beneath the shade
In the park eating lunch most everyday

It's been going on two weeks now
That I've watched that girl walk by
Normally a plain girl like her
Would never have caught my eye

But there was something about her
That for days I could not grasp
The look of anticipation that she had
Didn't match the hesitation in her step

You see there's this P.O. Box in the park
On the far upper east side
After visiting she would leave each day
With disappointment as her guide

Without really knowing her
I can't be sure of what it is she's looking for
Perhaps a letter from a lover
Or a husband off to war

But this day it was different
As she reached her hand inside
Pulling out that for which she had waited
What now seems like all her life

With a look of total elation
She jumped up and down awhile
The  joy  beyond contagious
I could not help but break into a smile

No longer in her step, the hesitation
She tore at the envelope with anticipation
On the bench next to me she sat
At the turn of her life's transformation

The first tear it dropped and found its mark
Upon the pages as she read
A world oblivious to the pain inside
As the birds chirped overhead

Disappointment came back to guide her
So much had changed since it last held her hand
This time life it held no purpose
As she strolled away, the living dead

She left behind the tear stained note
Dare I even try
To gaze into the only clue
Of this now tragic life

As I reached out for the letter
A breeze blew in from the South
And took with it that longing clue
To what this tragedy was all about

Nowadays I sit here on this lonely bench
I never saw that girl again
But my mind often goes back and wonders
About the letter and what it held within