
I sat by the gazebo in old S'cona Town
I sat quietly there with nary a frown,
I looked and I smiled and smiled as I looked
And sometimes even dipped right into my book.
There were vendors of hot dogs, popcorn and art
And inside the bus barns, some freshly-baked tart,
You'll see a man playing, a guitar and a lute
And from inside come women, bearing fresh fruit.

There's guys playing footbag (or is it called hack?)
Yes that's what it is - they play with a sack,
And a guy with MS, collecting cans on his scooter
He's dying yet happy, being an anti-polluter,
There's beggars in groups of all different sizes
Asking for change and hoping for prizes.
There's even a guy, who ties a huge rope
And walks on it by, the guys who smoke dope
He looks like a Buddhist with his haircut, you see
And I think that he walks, on his rope to feel free.

There's a large wagon pulled, by two great big horses
(Is it always the same, or on two different courses?)
I never follow them, though some day I will
That is if they don't, go up a steep hill.
So that's what I saw, when I sat and just watched
And then wrote this thing (whose rhyme scheme I botched),
No zebras, no Rajahs, no charioteers
Just a guy with a shopping cart, and too many beers.
