The man in the hat
A poem I wrote months ago that has never seen the light of day (until now obvi)
The man in the hat was very fond of the woman in the window
he would pass by her every day
She always had a smile
one he was convinced she saved for him
She was there to greet him
no matter the time of day
He never thought it odd she never seemed to move
or that she never returned his wave
He just assumed this was how it was meant to be
him and his love, forever separated by the glass
The Englishman at the Moulin Rouge by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. A painting I thought fit the story in a strange way.
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