I hear some distant thunder
As if bombs have burst in air
But it’s only morning traffic
With sounds that spread despair.
Unaware their raucous music
Isn’t welcome to sleeping heads
They create a restless thunder
Much better left unsaid.
A hiss, a rumble, an occasional
Screech as a horn hits high
And a hurried, busy people
Render frantic (but last) goodbyes.