These streets are foreign
However the same troubles plague you
You crave the old feelings of safety, comfort and peace
Yet they escape you.
The gaslights and palmetto trees
Have become a welcome sight
Even in the dimming sunlight when
You escape the sanctuary of your small cottage.
You stalk the cobblestone paths
Of the older neighborhoods
Accompanied by nothing but honeysuckle, blooming flowers and iron gates
Your tortured and battered soul
Eventually leads you to the park where you
Sit on wooden benches blanketed from the starry sky
By the canopy of trees.
You stare into the darkness
Unable to appreciate the rivers beyond the rail
As the soothing waters seem to beckon you
To finally escape.