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PAPER DREAMS
The scent of autumn sinks down Below the rain-drenched sidewalks As the wind from everywhere Pushes the dark shirt like an old bag And the last door of the Brooklyn-bound train Slowly closes, slowly closes;
He walks with the night, slowly, Then he stood alone with his shadows In front of some poetry, dimly-lighted Across the subway wall Maybe waiting for no one. Except for some homeless citizens Of this proud city;
He recited his prayers with the rosary on hand And he remembers the past and the morrow And he wishes no paper dreams But hopes for his faith to move on I know him very much, With his bagpack and black hat And trembling feet but mighty heart;
I know him very much I am he, he is me In New York City.
October 7 First Friday |
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