Sometimes a park description won't cut it for a post. This is one of those times. So, if you enjoy amateur (emphasis here) poetry, whoomp there it is. 

Light and sound

the mist it shrouds

the heart that beats

while evergreen.

The constant sprawl,

will rise then fall,

this never changing 

feels obscene.

You sit in boxes

day and night,

feeling lesser 

for some plight.

You think it ill

remember still

natures rhythm

there unseen.

The answers come

and feel untrue,

with nothing left

be cold and blue,

a turning point

you are still you,

and nature has her evergreen.