a day flies by and whiles away
drawing lies and smiles alike
like filings to the lodestone

babies' cries flay the sky
sunlight bright in my right eye
shining in dulcimer tone

in this park no broken tiles
just mild breezes, soft sighs, and ample time
to delight in Spring coming into its own

a wild-eyed man asks why we try
and rightly plies for answers nigh
and questions what we think is known

and waits impatient as we fry
in blind stupor as our minds belie
that we might in fact be all alone