And all earths masses huddle under awnings, wishing the storm would wane.
A solitary man walks down the street, seemingly unaware.
Seeing the people huddled in masses, wanting to laugh does he dare?
The future of man, he asks with a smile, is that what your worried about?
The future is clear for those who believe, nonexistent for those who doubt.
By Metria R. Jones
Around 1968