Something of an Inspiration

There’s the old man who tends to
His garden day in and day out;
As the wisps of white float about his head,
As he hums and smiles to himself.
There’s that soft-voiced singer who
Sings through the speakers in her
Thin high runny way that makes me
Want to curl up and sleep forever.
There he walks, and walks and walks;
I always see him walking,
And the blood rushed to my head.
There she stands, careless and boho;
We’re worlds apart and we know it;
But no one minds it, or she doesn’t notice.