42

Cosmic Dust

Cosmic dust lay on the street;
A thousand tires, a thousand feet.
A multitude of things to do
And to be done.

I've sat on galaxies of curbs
And watched the grass that they disturb,
Yet, somehow it cannot stop
The morning sun.

Sidewalks winding endlessly,
Passing faces we don't see,
Pretending we don't know
They're passing by.

One contribution we have made
The telephone poles we have laid
So birds can sit above and wonder why.
And when we've ruined everything,
And when the birds no longer sing,
We'll build our new scrap yard up in the sky.

Cosmic dust lay on the street:
A million miles, a billion feet,
A multitude of things that were never done.
Carbon gas lay overhead.
You can be sure a world is dead
When no one ever sees the morning sun.

Richard C. Hayner
July 1972 ©

© 2001 Middle Sea Studios - Richard C. Hayner - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED