By Stephen Cheney
I float-walk and meet grass,
For this park is without walls until
You reach the crags of glass-tiled buildings.
From the helmet of the Anzac Memorial,
Stretch neatly planned the rows of Cyprus trees,
And they spear from the air the cool of night;
Unlit candles of perished souls.
The city lights are bright and stabbing,
The city faces are dark and evasive;
Only the children run to embrace
The friskiness of the merry leaves.
(Image: Hyde Park, London - Camille Pissarro)