Halls...

Halls

The wind always blows there.
It is empty most of the time
and a little lonely.
I run through the halls, large
halls, cavernous and square.
The door shuts behind me
with a click and a clunck simultaneously.
Ah, there it is a little brown
piano. I used to play it. Or, thought that
I did.
Eerie, lonely, there should be music here. Where is it?
Just the wind...
People laughing but, where?
There were people performing on
the street, juggling, singing, dancing!
Men who had a way with the
crowds. They come and go...
       on the edges of things.