At a bus stop,
In a town well-to-do,
A summer so green,
And an ocean so blue,
Above twists a battered lone kite,
Under approaches a retired gent and wife,
The well-to-do, the diamond aloft,
Did not say hi, did not stop,
Instead had something to hand-off,
" For smiling"
And in my palm--
A kite--of butterscotch.