The lake in Central Park
and its cousin rivers
reflect the gray
of a cold sky,
an April afternoon.
None of this is seen
by the multitudes
traversing the streets
and avenues, a people who
barely remember the sky.
The lake in Central Park
and its cousin rivers
reflect the gray
of a cold sky,
an April afternoon.
None of this is seen
by the multitudes
traversing the streets
and avenues, a people who
barely remember the sky.
