One, oh, one.
You’re fraught with sunsets,
The gentle hum of metal beasts easing across your path.
You’ve taught me countless tunes,
As radios echo hauntingly into the night.
Will I still find you this way in twenty-five years?
Will your ethereal brush strokes still mark the horizon
In Fifty years? One-hundred years?
It is quite too soon to know for certain.
Much like the casks of dandelion wine that continue
to flow through Carnegie library,
and Bradbury’s heart-
I will breathe in your nostalgic aroma
and will carry your serenity with me,
Wherever I go.