She was wearing a tutu,
Bending down -
tying the laces of her ballet shoes.
Thick, brown curls covered her face,
when he first saw her.
He was a janitor at the Opera House.
Peeping through the curtains,
He watched her.
She floated in the tunes of The Swan Lake.
He met her again,
on a breezy evening.
He was taking a walk in the park.
She sat on a bench alone -
waiting for someone, he guessed.
The breeze touched her face,
as he looked at her.
The dark brown locks flew over her eyes.
He could remember nothing more.
While he met her often,
in the streets, at the Fro Yo shop,
in the park and the Opera House.
He watched her to know,
whom she waited for -
on that park bench.
But her magic hair always cast the spell!
A year had passed since he watched The Swan Lake.
He had a new employment now.
She was wearing a shroud,
Lying down -
occupying the bed of Room No. 101.
She was tonsured,
when he saw her.
He was a housekeeper at the City Hospital.
While changing the curtains,
He looked at her.
She slept in peace after a long fight with Cancer.