Small City

The winding roads remain the same With fields that flourish, still untamed. Through cold, through breeze, and mount's ascent, Unnoticed on the day you went. The busy town and bustling streets Without your hand, feel incomplete. From Burnham Park to Session Road Despite the crowd, the place feels cold. And as I lay my heart's lament Under the city's worn cement The grounds, the trees, the winds that blow Are all the us that I will know.