In Memory of Ray Bradbury

Somewhere in America, a boy tap-dances a on a tuned segment of discarded wooden sidewalk, calling his friends to run over the hills by moonlight... Out on the Veldt, the animals pause for a moment, as though something unseen had passed through their midst... Somewhere on Mars, a new silver fire is burning to welcome him... By the river, a Book stops it's recitation for the day, to remember a fine man who wrote such fine, fine things. Thanks be, for Ray Bradbury, who taught me that there could be poetry in prose.
Neon Signs