A View From My Window Poem by george fillingham

Everyday I watch the traffic pass,
The same traffic always, all day long,
Rushing this way and that, multi-colored,
Multi-sized, going to work, to the store,
Going home in the shrinking twilight.

The traffic noise, the sudden sirens,
At times seems hellish, but...
In Hell new faces move toward the boats,
Always new faces, determined, grim.

Gone is the monotony; the dull sameness.
I could get used to Hell