In the magical surroundings of The Chimney Rock Mountains My grandkids were enjoying ice creams. The little one climbed over the table With ice cream cone in his hand Eating and showing to a young couple.
The woman was eating not the ice cream But listlessly moving the spoon in her mouth And the man was looking down to his back.
Did they come to confess to one another Over the privacy of the ice cream? Their past was flowing over the table, Neither there was any sign of the rain Nor the ice cream in the cup melted.
There was no conversation between the two, But the chatter of waitresses at the urn And echoed voices of the people Climbing the last lap of the mountains.
Suddenly there was a gust of wind & shower That forced them to go inside the restaurant We show them hugging in a corner And the ice cream melted on the table And their present flowing over the table.
