The busy breath of a city north:
                                                        Toronto,­ by Ontario shore.

Alone the world has alway' been,
In cold the space where planet bend,
Next mars or pluto lit between —
But none would ever bother them.
Then stands alone this human being
And wonder where he'd travel then:

He flies to worlds beyond the stars,
Can mend the dream before his will,
Can think of ogres, wizards all;
Can think a way into a thrill:
But further down he might recall
Where evil hides and watches still.

While mission plans fall on a whim,
And rarely do they e'en come true,
Man revisits one for him —
And hopes that someone listens too:
Like father to us all children
And mother like the earthy moon.

He might stop and dream of ponds
To sit and play with forever eve:
He might sit with trees till summer's day
Or maybe swim with many fish
Or touch the sky with his geese
Maybe he'll play with spiders nigh
Or creep along with midnight bugs
On his road might he run—
With stray cats that nightly come
Or sit along with navy trees
And dance along the flowers fun
Might he chat once with a moon
And ask it why it shines so white
Or talk with grass why green it grows
Or talk with spirits all through night.

the staring back sky
translucent eyes, road lights neath
invisible deep

Here it is, amidst coward days:
The bleeding yellow bears our life:
And sawn about its yellow face
The putrid oak and yellow sky.

There goes one bird, 'top yellow tree,
He sings his tune of yellow well:
"O' mossy stone, O' mossy leave;
O' marshy pond, O' sun of hell"

And **** controls the centre road;
The geese instill a command high:
And yellow rots the air we blow,
If orange peels had rotten by.

And yellow bends the faces rude
Which chatter in this chatter-box,
And once blue tide that is not blue
Has soured well and wrong enough.