Greenfield, CA
When the sun sets on this lonely old town,
hills golden at noon soon dim to brown.
Shadows stretch over this quiet expanse,
People only live here by circumstance.
Capering voices fade away,
Church floors creek unheard – only mice come to pray.
While cars streak past, distant and cold,
wind rustles a show ticket four years too old.
Youth hungry with yearning left long ago,
Ask those who remain, but they won’t know.
Red tail lights stream by, and eventually fade.
Even the sun’s bypassed into shade.
Placid, the wind rustles empty bird’s nests,
and the town hopes in vain for wandering guests.