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She loves her job But has a strange way of showing her affection More than me, I asked ... What is your name again She replied A stranger, let us leave it at that She cries one evening It is too much But I remember The same day, I made her Smile If I was her At that moment it seems I'd go to her every morning I wouldn't miss a shift Her first smile had enchanted me It's an embarrassing emotion I hope she has them too It is vanity But her voice I'd rather everyday The little Workaholic 's hands have touched my soul.

I see a bird every morning he is one a solid routine he has I know not of his name I know not if he possesses one but what I know of is his morning routine Apparently he has taken upon himself To remind me everyday he is alive On another day Wake up On another Now you see me On... Now you don't He's sort of A shy bird But I might be mistaken Though what I know Is his hate for photographs He is a sort of a star among the birds To my knowledge No photos In a fit he seems to say But what do I know I am but a guy With a window.