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A Morning River Walk

Little cars drift by and go somewhere
Across the Hudson under morning sun,
A mile out and silent. Over there,
Some bankerís long commute has just begun;

A family occupies a taxi cab,
Unsure and stuffy, only visiting;
A scientist drives northward to her lab;
A lonely postal worker waits for spring.

None sees me as I muse about their days,
Each life a unique web of circumstance
That I will never know, in an expanse
Of breakfasts, errands, chance. The morning haze

Lifts with the wind, the buildings look around
The sprawling land, and nothing makes a sound.

John Masella


If you have any thoughts about this poem, John Masella  would be pleased to hear them

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