Walk

When I walk down empty sidewalks,
The cars in the street stream past in session
And their breeze steals my breath, I can not talk
Nor make any grave notice for confession.

Somewhere, had I been walking ages hence
I would have seen oaks, pines, and blue jays.
The forests would not have been broken by lines of white picket fence
And I could have strolled there for the remainder of my days.

There would be no sirens nor concrete nor mass intrusions of man
But only the delicate touch of man’s gentleness toward nature.
No lights could possible dictate when we walked or where we ran
And we would be left to harbor that beauty and save it for the future.