Sundials Follow

They built a median on Mosby Street.
They built a pub where the locals meet.
They figure revenues in the feet and mouths
That hang down on John Mosby.
Though the church yard has stayed the same since you were seven.
They got a new shepherd to lead ‘em all to heaven.
Robert quit the job, got married, and left no trace.
There’s no one left to remember your face.
They’re still shopping at the corner store that sold you soda.
The library was torn up. Your friends have gotten older.
Home was rented out by a family that don’t know the place.
There’s no one left to remember the way you played at your house behind the wood--
A fortress made of limbs from a tree that stood
A thousand feet over the neighborhood.
You don’t visit like you should since you found that well empty.
They built a median on Mosby Street.