There's a silence in the evening, A silence most displeasing. It's not the absence of mowers running, Or bedsheets flapping, motors humming. Trains still shunt, foghorns blast, Where are the sounds From our past?
It's not the sound of contrary laughing Walking from a parent's lashing. Something's missing, sounds are gone, Familiar sounds from our lawns.
The sound of rope slapping cement, Fantasy games kids invent. An echoing slapshot before, "Car!" These missing sounds are so bizarre.
Those yestergames we played in jest, Like Hide and Seek at dusk was best. But outside games gave way to screens, I'd rather hear childish screams.