Seems like a long time Since the waiter took my order. Grimy little luncheonette, The snow falling outside. Seems like it has grown darker Since I last heard the kitchen door Behind my back Since I last noticed Anyone pass on the street. A glass of ice-water Keeps me company At this table I chose myself Upon entering. And a longing, Incredible longing To eavesdrop On the conversation Of cooks.
Added: 25 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 27 Apr 2017 10:53 AM | Viewed: 8013 times
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