Could Be Anywhere...
The parade has passed by
clowns gone, crowd walking away.
Watching a wind twirl a wrapper
lonely claims another day.
We laughed long ago
youthful dancing until dawn.
Cleaning crew begins their work
feeling unhinged, something wrong.
Twirling batons, colorful floats
majestic in their rolling march.
"Talk of the town", say ordinary
voice long unused, raspy and harsh.
Mother shields at the sound
pulls a smile, questioning along.
The loneliness comes crashing in
broom pusher whistling our song.
A turn with tears, stinging, angry
hunched with gait; shuffling, slow.
The others don't know, pray never
"never more" gloats the crow.
Copyright reserved 3/97 by D.J.Burt
there is only one...