I sit in the undying city surrounded by cement and concrete and metal.

No one lives here, not really.

They walk through their day alone, counting the living things they see

On the fingers of two hands.

This is no way to live.

I walk through the busling woods greeting the birds and the bees,

and the critters who hide in shade.

A thousand eyes watch what a millon ears hear, nothing is out of place

There is no time here.

This is the way to live.

No alone in an unliving prison

but surrounded by the wilderness of freedom.