On a long tarmac stretch was a lone stranger,
umbrella in hand, beaten by the July weather,
she a passing angel,
each going on with their busy life,
and so a routine it became,
and should one fail,
the other would halt, miss the others passing presence,
at times their eyes would rock,
and they'd both shy away,
unknowingly, cupid's arrow had been flung,
destined for their hearts,
and so it is that they fell in love,
each passing moment,
held a life's essence.
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