The businessman steps out to take a call,
The wind extracting tear drops from his eyes.
“Who’s this?”—But another sound comes to his ears.
He does not catch the name. He hears a song,
A song not heard since who knows when, a song
That draws more tears than wind, a song
Whose source compelled to find, he runs.
He shuts the phone, and sprints the boardroom, flies
Down stairs and stairs and tears across the hall
For freedom, searching every street. Eyes close
To find the thread of melody that’s lost
Within the tapestry of urbanite
Cacophony. The song is almost done.
Seconds remain to find the kindred soul
Who loves the song as much as he. Alas!
He stumbles when the song, the thread is cut.
Immobilizing silence. Knees are scraped,
Our man is lost, but he cries joyfully,
For hope the song survives, is found, is loved.