Blue Buggy

There is nothing quieter than voices urban, reflecting, echoing, shrill dead happy notes beating against windows and walls Small children in the park laughing and you, sitting to draw and push a blue buggy before the rain comes Squeaking steel springs to soothe, imagining a baby there, Dreaming of rice pudding and clouds Look now, how they move quickly away from school, while the rain falls like frozen string and only you know the reason why you take this special opportunity to weep.