My city

The streets have names
of people and meaning
and others anonymously
were born without a voice

the squares are full of trees
people there have their dreams
neighborhoods are like villages
but without strong shoulders
they often have no parents

the parks are sad
by fall, sadness and wind
and people often get lost
are child again

the churches are abandoned
by ghosts without breath
but in the nicest streets
the soul has its own address.