PIECES HERE AND THERE

THE STREETS FROM MY PAST ARE OLD,

THE HOUSE I LIVED IN NOW SOLD.

THE NEIGHBORHOOD NOW LOOKING WORSE,

DYING AND WROTTING AS IF BY SOME CURSE.

THE PEOPLE NOW OLD AND FRAGILE LIKE THE TOWN,

THE SAME PEOPLE WHO AT A YOUNG AGE PUT ME DOWN.

NOW ALONG WITH THE NEIGHBORHOOD THEY GO,

LOSING THEIR YOUTH, THEIR PAST AND THEIR GLOW.

IN THE YARD OF THAT HOUSE I STILL HERE MY VOICE,

ALONG WITH MINE I HERE THOSE OF THE OTHER BOYS.

IN THE STREETS I SEE A YOUNG BOY IN HIS BIKE,

HAPPY AND CARE-FREE MUCH TO SOME PEOPLE'S DISLIKE.

I SEE THE SPARKLE IN HIS EYES FULL OF JOY,

PLAYING WITH AN OLD BALL BUT LOVING IT LIKE A NEW TOY.

I HEAR HIS VOICE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD HERE AND THERE,

SEEING HIS IMAGE LAUGHING AND PLAYING EVERYWHWERE.

I STOP SOMETIMES AND UNKNOWINGLY AT HIS IMAGE I STARE,

BUT I STILL HAVE PIECES OF HIM, HERE AND THERE.