A Valentine Breakfast
On Valentines, at breakfast, over toast and eggs to boot.
In Helen, where it's chilly, and the waitress is a hoot!
All dressed in red and black, with this mesh thing going on...
She walked straight out of Vonnegut with lots and lots of charm.
Folks waiting for a table with their eyes that barely peep,
In this Alpine town in Georgia, where nature gently sleeps.
All the clatter of the dishes and the mess upon the grill...
And a line of sleepy guests trying to pay their bill.
With full stomachs oozing smiles and caffeine in their blood,
And a spirit waking softly with a focus that they would...
Have their hearts, somehow, beat gently with the one that they hold dear,
To enjoy this Sainted Sunday and to sit and ponder here.
In these hills where spirits venture with a love held ever grand.
And me...the silent voyeur with my heart and pen in hand...
Wishing for the same one day when I finally make my stand.
To gaze upon the soul through eyes that tell of wishes deep,
Perhaps, here in the mountains, and put my soul to sleep.
I have searched within my heart and decided to explore...
The hope that there is 'someone' of whom I can adore.
A pulse that would endeavor to put my heart to rest...
And beat forever closer for the need is here, at best.
For now, I'll dine on breakfast, my heart will ever pine.
For the hand of one that's waiting while I take my turn in line.
Then depart the noise of breakfast at this little dining hall...
And venture on this 'Sainted Day' to Anna Ruby Falls.
© 1999 Susan K. Rowse
