HIS FACE IN THE WINDOW

Passing by as I do each day, there stands a house of yellow,

The yard is most beautiful with many colors of blooming flowers.

Shrubs and trees that dance in the wind, the morning sun shines,

The birds and squirrels rise early to the day, gathering what’s before them.

My days’ are the same as they are different in many ways,

The sun rises and sets while I go about every busy day.

Seen by me is his face in the window, most often you see,

His yard is always so amazing, outside he’s never to be.

I’ve never seen his face so clear as to know him very well,

Never have we even spoke, I don’t even know his name.

His face in the window, it’s all I know to be,

Who is this man and what kind of life has he seen.

Why does he only show his face in the window,

Does he really hide inside, is his life just passing by,

Or is it perhaps that he only shows himself in the night.

Keith Garrett