I sit at my window
watching the world fly by
on motorcycles, mo-peds, feets and the such.
Calendar in the corner
tells me it�s been three years
since I planted that tree out front.
Sidewalk�s bare though,
nothing has grown
�cept a YIELD sign and an easy chair.

Hours go by
Crumpled papers fly
Asking why
Good men
	and ideas
		die
So quickly.