The city encloses the ripe and ready stalks
Where wild doth surely grow untamed
Bright buds do sprout upon a dying bark
Outside, metrop'lis men wilt into grey
Untapped on pavement streets and stately squares
The city man races for the glory ahead
Whilst etching towards that wooded edge,
Where roped in forces tame entangle
Hesitant he pokes inward and makes move
As foreign to her soiled footwork
Lurking in absence of sentiment
Her wooded maj'sty halts him on the spot,
Light and eyes do spark, a head extends
In upward awe, she exhales and he again

04/23/2003

Posted on 09/13/2005
Copyright © 2024 H.M Stevens