See the town sleep.
Clothed in the perfect Sunday silence
choked by vines of
busy centres
it once dwarfed.

Silent but for the two crucial hours
each day
morning and evening
when it is thoroughfare to streams
of gleaming cars:
"We'd drive through,
never stop there."

See the trees grow.
For movement here is so scarce
you can almost see them
twitching quivering
stretching to a vast blue sky.

Silent but for the whispering winds
all day
through branches breathing
Earth reclaiming
streets and alleyways,
"Come back to me,
O' Willow Town."