The People

The People

Once as I wandered down the street, seeing nothing but people's feet
And many an object of which not to think of--
I walked slowly, sensing sadness, on faces with attentiveness
I usually mind their business, business as if from above--
"Or so they think as," I pondered, "business as if from above--
Or true as white on a dove."

I truly remember that day, sometime in the middle of May
And the crowd did not care with a push or shove
'Cause all they thought of was next week--and finding what they seek
Or what if they found a feeling weak--weak because of love--
Because of the clear and clamoring hearthtrob of love--
That is what they're thinking of.