Passersby
Some are strutting; others drag,
Promenade or amble,
Every one a puzzle
We’re unable to unscramble.
Some look cocky, others sad,
Lost in their reflections,
Heading off, in head and foot,
In varying directions.
Some are spiffy, others drab,
Yet a first impression
Isn’t quite enough to gauge
Contentment or depression.
In the city, passersby
Cross paths but what we see
Will not provide the clues to solve
Each private mystery.
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