A walk in the city at night,

under the stars and the lamps,

and their light.

Pavement wet from melting snow,

black as night shines gold by the light of lamps,

mocking quietly cowering shadows.

They tell me that this place is grand,

cultured, honored, splendor.

Why then do I yearn to see the green and endless hills,

those stands of brazen oak,

the fields of golden grass?

I wish to have known the world,

in all its virgin beauty,

for never shall it be again.

Daniel Mueller