The Fool at the corner of West Milford Street..

With a whisper, a breeze taps me on my shoulder.

A rustling of summer trees rings like a bell of nature,

And the ever gold sun peers through the clouds,

Shining a spotlight on me and the iron bench by the Oak tree.

Who was it that sat beside me, I didn't know,

But her voice reached my ears amidst the rustling of trees,

And her hair kept brushing my face through the whispers of the breeze.

An old, yet crowded downtown in the Garden State,

With antique stores and victorian gowns in display.

Who was to know that amidst the serene American Dream,

Luck would find me unguarded and unaware.

A book of the romantic in my hand, and lilies on the other,

With a impeccable suit and matching hat to meander,

Guess who fell in love,

The Fool at the corner of West Milford Street.