Standing in a broken meadow
The grass is brown
The flowers wilted
The dirt packed and hard
The leaves-discarded
And crackle underfoot

The lake to the right
Thirsty and parched
Not enough water
And without the hum of motors,
The swish of billowing white sails,
Everything is too quiet

The city thrives though:
The gleaming, shiny, metallic buildings
Still stand strong
The center of town burning with energy
Shining lights
Nothing could stop or slow
The rhythm of this life.

But then the flowers from the meadow
Come to Jerry's Flowers wilted
But then the weekend journey
To the lake is cancelled,
Swimsuits become bleached from chlorine
But then the yards in the suburbs
Turn from green to brown themselves

But then the city is parched.
And without the rhythm of life
That we thought
Could not be stopped or slowed,
Everything is too quiet.