This city
Is vastly plagued with loneliness.
I’m looking for Van Morrison’s
Brown-eyed girl
And I cry at the sight
Of every ponytail.
I believe in a higher love
But everyone
Is too busy seeking
Money pursuits on glittering streets
Of superficiality.
Where is the delicate hand
That will hold mine and pray with me
By the mountain’s waterfall
Which weeps for genuine kindness?