Above a boulevard of life
Where matter counts;
The count does not.
Where the altered complexions
Of the seasons skies
Seem as his people:
Strolling, searching, striving.
Where he turns his back
To the glistening river running,
Calling to the world
In notes of silver and gold.
He keeps his verdant post,
A marker of beauty,
A marker of truth
Where the Gods would be green.
