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Question:Strolling alone down these brick city sidewalks,
I find myself lost within you.
So many feet have walked this very path,
I wonder if they heard your whispers too.

Every car passing, every stomp or shout,
Is the voice of this wise and aged town.
Turn off that busy street, forget your destination,
The melodies will lead you around.

Travel beyond reality and listen very closely,
You may feel someone's dreams coming true.
Sit down on the bench and notice it's worn paint,
Someone great may have sat there before you.


This is just a start, but please tell me if I am on the right track, and if anything could be tweaked to make it flow better. Constructive criticism and ideas are welcome!


Best Answer - Chosen by Asker: Strolling alone down these brick city sidewalks,
I find myself lost within you.
So many feet have walked this very path,
I wonder if they heard your whispers too.

Every car passing, every stomp or shout,
Is the voice of this wise and aged town.
Turn off that busy street, forget your destination,
The melodies will lead you around.

Travel beyond reality and listen very closely,
You may feel someone's dreams coming true.
Sit down on the bench and notice it's worn paint,
Someone great may have sat there before you.


This is just a start, but please tell me if I am on the right track, and if anything could be tweaked to make it flow better. Constructive criticism and ideas are welcome!

The city whisper:
As I stroll alone down these brick city sidewalks,
I do find myself lost.
So many people and feet have walked this very path,
I wonder too if they heard your whisper?
With every car passing every stomp and shout.
Is the voice from this wise and aged town.
Turn off the busy street, to forget your destination,
The melodies of tunes will lead you around.
Please listen very closely, and travel beyond reality
One day you will feel someone's dreams coming true
There was someone there who sat before you.

It is a very good start. You just need to paint a more intriguing portrait. Get a few fancier words. The old 50 cents words, the teachers talked about.