The bare eyes of old houses crack with sorrow,
Because the sun will rise again tomorrow.
Of all who pass by there is no dissenter,
No mood exists upon this street but winter.
A woman and a man walk by together,
Their shadows painted filigree on weather.
Gazing steadfastly upward beyond dying,
They memorize whatever birds are flying.
Sandra Fowler
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bare-eyes-crack-with-sorrow/
