Iook from my window at nothing much , the widow that passes with her tartan trolley is a daily acurence,  her face mostly the same until she returns,  

The ten o'clock people pass in a rush needing there fix well ***** buzz . The empty soul that walks by , no one nos his story seemingly just shy .

The rain falls but thats outside , i look from my Windows am safe in here watching life go by  ,
The widow returns she is now wet and not dry ,her trolley not as full now with no partner a tear in her eye