Growing Up

The jet black concrete glistens bright Amid the falling Summer rain, And bends the early morning light Beneath her solemn skies of gray I walk to hear the sudden splash Of mirrored magic at my feet, And catch my blurred reflection there Before they come to clean the street But in the distance there’s a sound – The Train is blowing loud and clear; His moaning whistle barrels down, And my reflection disappears I glance again and hope to see The shadow of uncaring youth, But I can scarcely come to find The rippled visage I once knew.