Strolling down the walk
I shake my head in disbelief:
storefronts with unfamiliar names,
the buildings now grown taller-
shutting the sun from the neglected
park below-
the frenzied horde of people, SUVs,
shooting headlong toward some other place
than this place I know.
How I loved whiling away
on the old park bench, dreaming
in cadence to the sun prickling
my skin, the symphonic play of foraging pigeons,
the occasional smile of a passing face.
I try and steel myself against
the emptiness of loss,
the pain of wounded memories held
sacredly in my mind, the thought
I may never reclaim
that time that seemed so perfect,
as though it were
the only place
on Earth.
Copyright 2008 Francis Don Daniels
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