In the misty morning air
The click clopping of shoes
Upon wet cement
Sets my mind
into a musical cadence.
Each drop of rain
Lands in perfect rythym,
Every swoosh of a tire
Lends a crescendo.
A song heard
Time and again.
Born of the monotony
Of one day into the next,
Of one foot in front of the other
Of stories told and retold.
In the shabbiness of the
Morning air
The sun tries
to b link through the clouds
So it can burn through
The frozen humanity
That no longer
Gives a scrap of bread
To a stranger.
I watch as silhouettes
Dance between rain drops
Then scurry into shelter.
The click clopping of sboes
On wet cement has faded
To a stark and silent
Breath of time.