singing a sad song,
strumming her guitar
as people stroll along.
Yes, on this Bank Holiday
pass all shapes and sizes
as the sun briefly breaks through
grey clouds as it rises.
I throw coins into her guitar case,
her red hair kissed by the breeze
as she plays another sad song
underneath blossoming spring trees.
It's rather therapeutic
and for a little while I pause
but to some she's invisible
as the shops open their doors.