I am still wooed by simple songs
By several notes over and over.

Being young my dreams are large,
And my elders tell me they shall shrink,
Shrink like new shirts in the dryer,
Shrink like shiny new shoes in the rain, shrink

She said the word was not "pretty"
"Pretty is for flowers and clouds,
Not freeways". I noted the complexity,
The long, feminine curves, the pillars
Which call to consciousness parthenon, pantheon,

"Pretty," she said, "is still not the word,"
"Beauty," she again, "beauty may be the word."

I am still wooed by simple lines,
By concrete over and over.