I leaned up against a wall, brick I believe.
People of so many descriptions moving about.
Some looked happy, some sad.
A few wore scowls, hurrying, and the slow.
Talking wildly with hands waiving, looking somber,
not really paying any attention - on the phone.
The colors were many too,
reds, yellow moving and mingling,
They flashed with sounds of concrete,
laughter, cottons, and blue - all mixed, moved.
The sun shown, least hurried of all,
and so I wonder how much of our hearts we wear?
If you could read is it there in the face?
Maybe the clothes we wear, or the sound of the voice,
the wrinkles of time, the light in our eyes?
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