Piccolo Mondo

People watch, without seeing

Listen, without hearing

Talk, without speaking

As moments change, there is no appreciation

The days passing, without recognition

Months going without admiration

Seasons changing without ovation

Time itself, changing without notice

Birds singing without applause

Squirrels gather without a pause

There is no awe, as the sun changes to moon

Only people telling of a coming doom

No sounds are heard, but the cries of anger

No one speaks softly, but carries a big stick

There are no values of a persons creations

Until they've died and there's a sudden realisation

They're Gone

Nicole M Harrington (c) 10/22/86