An empty road lies
Right in front of my little gate.
And as I stare through the opaque glass door
I couldn’t help but wonder
What the road does
When not trodden on
Does it stare?
Or discreetly admire
People on other roads
Or does it brood
Over emotions that passes beneath
Or should I think
That just like my opaque glass door
It pretends not to bother
Laying stealth in silence, happiness and grief
Just see things passing in a whiff
With its concrete so stiff.
All joyous music and wails of sadness
Tears not the road’s opaqueness
But through my opaque glass door
I cannot help but see
the sad, wide, empty road.