The Other

I wrote a poem, which is the first one in over three months. There used to be a time when I'd write at least a poem a day. I wonder what happened to all that creativity. Anyway, about this poem, I was walking home and it was drizzling, sightly chilly, and I met a man walking the other way. That small incident got me thinking and before I got home I had this poem. The rhythm is at times halting, but this is how I would walk if this realization dawned on me while walking home. As narcissistic as I am, I'd appreciate your comments and criticism on this.

The Other

Two travelers if they be called
Converged upon a yellow walk,
Twas brownish viewed within the day
But yellow lamps made it to match their hue.

The Other's shoes was all the Other one espied
For umbrellas did block their view
'gainst cold and wind and rain and dark
And carried each to hearth and home.

And in passing each decried
How like and like their feet were built,
And how their gaits were matched so well
As the pants that atop their shoes did sit.

The night, it had been filled
With wine and merrymaking,
But when the Other left he left his
Mistress sitting, smiling upon her bed.

And as the Other traveled, traveled with a smile
He thought about his wife to whom he tarried,
Who at that selfsame moment sitting upon her bed
Wore nary save a smile.