They met, purely by chance,
Two men, sharing the same glance.
One, a free spirited gypsy,
The other, from Poughkeepsie.
They shared the love of a blonde,
Though neither had made a bond.
Whether she was drinking hot coffee,
Or eating a chewy piece of toffee,
The men knew just one thing,
Neither had seen her King.
No man to hold her hand,
On her finger, no wedding band.
She was happy as could be,
This they could clearly see.
She walked with intention and pride,
Their paths were about to collide.
On a bench they all sat,
Only a hello in their chat.
They both admired her scent,
As if it had blown from a vent.
She started to get a little nervous.
All she wanted was the bus service.
After a moment or two passed,
The bus arrived at last.
She leaped from her seat,
Carrying her favorite sweet.
Still in a trance from her aroma,
The men had missed the bus to Tacoma.
She was gone from their lives forever,
Two men, without nerve to be clever.
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