Penélope

Penelope,
With her brown leather bag
And her high-heeled shoes,
And her Sunday dress.
Penelope,
Sits on a bench on the platform
And waits for the first train
Waving her fan.
They say in town that a traveler stopped
Her clock one spring afternoon.
Goodbye, my love, don’t cry for me, I’ll be back
Before the willows drop their leaves...
Think of me, I’ll return for you...
Poor thing,
Your childhood clock has stopped
On a gloomy April afternoon,
When your lover left.
It withered
In your garden, the last flower,
There’s not a willow on Main Street
For Penelope.

=music=

Penelope,
Sad from waiting too long,
Her eyes seem to shine
If a train whistles in the distance.
Penelope,
One after another, she sees them pass,
Looks at their faces, hears them talk,
To her, they’re just dolls.
They say in town that the traveler returned,
Found her on her green pine bench.
He called out: "Penelope, my faithful lover, my peace,
Stop weaving dreams in your mind...
Look at me, I’m your love, I’ve come back..."
She smiled
With her eyes full of yesterday,
Her face and skin weren’t the same:
"You’re not who I’m waiting for..."
And she stayed
With her brown leather bag
And her little high-heeled shoes
Sitting at the station
Sitting at the station.