ah, spring rain
and children in
the long drawn streets
of the city
and me
well, i’m a word
with no syllables
on trains bound for . . .
who knows?
certainly not me
watching sunsets
over redblood sands
of faded bodies
and shells
yes, it’s a long way
to go
and I’ve hardly begun
my feet are sore already
and my age is pushing
at my shoulders . . .
go, lady, go
