always a sweeping time   pushing and pushing;   i once walked the streets, unconfined   now i watch the sunset   dance   with its dying progeny   but it is too much time;    always a sweeping time   herald of change and the falling   of centigrade   million-children clutching at   their fathers and wrenched from   those hoary, old men   expired, unburied, restless left   to wander the streets--   i see them now.   the wind holds them tight   i see them now.   how they waltz for their   fathers.