In the dark park
A myriad leaves
Whirl in autumn’s breeze.
And optimists stress
The inevitability of progress.
But these fallen leaves
Do not deceive.
In the dark park
A myriad leaves
Whirl in autumn’s breeze.
And optimists stress
The inevitability of progress.
But these fallen leaves
Do not deceive.
Observing a traffic jam
I am amazed
And give due praise
To this idol
From the bible
That we call progress.
For progress
Does redress
All our ills.
The traffic stills
And I
Walk by …