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From high above, the tiny figures move
Like clones, their pace and look almost the same.
They seem as poured from mold, or in a groove,
Pale pieces playing parts within a game.
E’en from the level of the street, the mass
Keeps marching much in step like armies file,
Their faces – this or that – all fit a class:
A studied look or quick-lived frown or smile.
E’en greeting or a nod won’t tell the tale;
It takes relationship before one can
Discover what is hidden by the veil
And find the hidden thoughts that make the man.
From far away, men look the same, like ants.
It is the closest look that separates, enchants.
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photo by Marcelo Terraza at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mmfzcdy/%3E+Block+1
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.
The Bard on the Hill 