Classic Poem

Nobody passes on the street,
The day is set, like a stage, for feet,
With a ridge of white clouds painted high
Across the canvas of the sky;
With pavement gleaming and too clean;
A shimmer of grass that seems too green,
And houses alert on every side
Showing a stiff and conscious pride.
The day is a stage, and life is a play—
But nobody passes down this way.