Have you ever stood on a city street

And watched the pace of passing feet?

How quick they go as if they dare

Not to be seen to linger there.

 

Their owners trapped in headlong rush

That takes them to another crush

Of hurrying humanity in its need

To avoid attention by its speed.

 

How different from the village street

When people pause and actually greet

A passer-by they may not know -

You can do that when your pace is slow.

 

It's plain to see the city dweller

Is a very different kind of feller,

Driven by some strange compulsion

To surrender to quick-step propulsion.

 

I doubt if they would hurry so

To take that final trip we know.

Perhaps some energy they should save

To make it slowly to the grave!

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