The Shuttle

The nine O' one to the clock
Keeps astep the milling crowd
To hopes of love, happiness and the divine
Never noticing the shuttle so loved
Always a place for me inside

Five planks of wood, a forest itself
Witness to a million lives
A shelter for worn out feet
And gum that always had to hide

Long stories together I have heard
Of children and pranks aside,
With solace, heart break and tears for the lost
A few hundred counts of anger belied

New faces, those I daily visit
All strangers by name left aside
A practice on purpose, none ever asked
For the hour was pleasant within itself
Comfort only a friend can provide

Grandchildren visits, an ailing mother, a win here and there
It was here that one felt free
Burdens left outside the sliding doors
Never wanting to be found.

In patience, the time caring for one
A gentle word, a kind hand
A smile shared all around
Blessed is the nine o one, always sharp on the clock