America is Still Singing

I can hear America singing, singing at the top of her lungs,
I can see America flying with the gulls, screeching against the blueness of the sky
And with the birds that perch on top of the sign that reads "Stop & Shop",
Whistling merrily to each other
I hear her loud and clear, but it's night now, a quiet time , and yet America is still singing
The wind, so cold, carries the singing voices  into the parking lot
From the cars passing by to the rumble of the carriages as the customers push them outside
To the smell of food coming from the restaurant to the occasional car alarm
I'm collecting carriages from outside and pushing them back inside and I'm freezing
I pause for a fleeting moment to catch the breath I've lost, gazing at the full moon
Looking at the moon, casting her pale glow upon the passing clouds, gives me the sense
That I have just stepped into Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter
Standing on the balcony of a Victorian house,
Or yet in Arthur Miller's The Crucible, living in fear at the height of the Salem Witch Trials
Or Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,
Riding home from an All Hollow's Eve Party, running from the Headless Horseman
Or even Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, standing on the deck of the Nautilus
Next to Captain Nemo himself, looking at the same moon
I hear America singing at the top of her lungs; I hear her loud and clear
If he were here, do you think Walt Whitman would hear her too?
I hear America singing,  loud and clear, but it's night now, a quiet time , and yet America is still singing