Lady on the bus

The scent drifts in the air As it were perfume It dances there and moves casually about on its Sunday stroll Wrapping itself upon the carrier moving nonchalantly One step here One step there The essence of this fills with a sense of a place Which in the mind rings undoubtedly familiar A place some condemn to be filled with sorrow A place some acknowledge to be the key, to fix, and to heal This is still on its stroll Bringing the view of the place in mind The walls white Floors white with black streaks form heels and shoes Doors dark with the label of vacancy Corridors filled with a yellow light Machines and scales are there too Subtle art hung upon the walls And the muffled voices in the walls The sweet aroma becomes faint The air now decides to clear it away, as we begin to move Bringing back the person upon the seat To recognize they hadn't actually walked in the place They've been sitting through that time Just memories, memories filling up the mind Where some condemn the place of being full of sorrow and full of hope It is strange this essence Its contents made of cleanliness The pure essence of clean And so it relaxes me Reminding me Condemning me To the memories I've lived in it and out of it But to you Lady on the bus Your perfume Brings it all back, to what I can recall And to what awaits me more beyond my knowledge