(Girl On The) Number Forty-Seven
Monday to Friday it’s always the same,
Off to work, to carry the load:
Waiting, whatever the weather,
For that bus to trundle down the road.
Route forty-seven is the number I need,
Though other numbers stop there too.
There’s jostling, and pushing and shoving,
As we stand there in the queue.
Sometimes it’s full and we can’t board,
Or perhaps there’s some spaces upstairs,
Then you have to get up there quickly,
And wait for the man collecting the fares.
But there’s one thing that I look out for,
That makes my journey complete:
The girl with the long blonde hair,
And she’s always there in the same seat.
She rides the upper deck near the front,
Staring from the window, calm and serene.
She’s beautiful and desirable -
I’m sure you know what I mean.
I wonder where she goes to each day,
And what could be her destination,
Cos I have to get off before she does,
As I continue my journey from the station.
I admire her, from my seat here at the back,
Though of me I’m sure she’s quite unaware.
I don’t even know what I’d say to her,
But I try and get as close as I dare.
She seems so cool, and calm and complete,
She looks so happy, assured and care-free.
I think she’s in a league way above me,
And I doubt if she’s ever noticed me.
So day after day, I just think about her,
And carry on without any fuss.
I don’t even know what her name is,
She’s just “the girl on the forty-seven bus”.
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