Perfect Little Squares
Every building in my view
Has perfect little squares
Of windows lined up neatly
Which I gaze at, unawares.
From where I sit, I cannot see
The curtains, shades or blinds,
The distance meaning if I stare,
Then no one really minds.
And yet, behind each pane of glass
Some lives are being spent,
Each one unique, no matter what
The co-op fees or rent.
The city houses millions,
All with windows facing out,
But we never know what life
Behind those windows is about.
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