Evening Unheeded
Quiet sidewalks of an evening,
Through soft dark the neighborhood,
The trees, now magical and grey,
Stars tell of . . . . but we can't hear what they say.
Quietly the crickets sing
A song of distant, peaceful times,
The air is cool, yet warm as love,
And all below now mirrors what's above.
In our homes we miss it all,
Rapt faces lit with blue,
A roof, four walls, remote controls:
The price for which we sell our souls.