The Lawn, early morning silence,
the city had not yet stirred.
Footsteps in the dew
stopped to listen.
The hair blown breeze
danced around a face
focussed on a sound,
a growing whisper, a cry.
Doors slam, heavy boots,
dissident murmurs of the past.
The dew lifted and
came the shriek of innocence,
children hide and seek.
“No ball games allowed”
A remnant of old order,
echoes of madness
calming under the palm.