By Brent   Blong@onecom.com
Date: 16 April 1999

"A World's Identity"

Touring throught the vacant park,
The dwindling sunset, soon to dark.

The trees swaying in succession,
The wind assisting without discression.

A bird sings, a squirrel hides,
One last child goes down the slides.

Night time is falling with the sense of serenity,
This park is the holder of the world's identity.