A voiceless stroll

A stranger once went for a walk,
And saw a soul they kind of liked,
But were in pressure none to talk
And so, instead, they simply strolled.

They lingered back a step or two
— a stare from shadows overpsyched.
In silence they would not break through
They kept their pace, but not too bold.

The soul within that shot of ear
To look behind would never dare
And so perceived a glimpse of fear:
A stare, a shade, a silence cold.

And so, until this very day what some call but a silent walk
To many stays a bad idea; and wrapped up in a verb 'to stalk'.