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.

introspectionrhyme

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