London,
strange syllable city
so full of accents,
so neat and old of geometric wrinkles,
feels as though she hasn't tasted sweetness
since America departed.

I saw her,
London,
a young woman, the City,
a formal suit of perfect feminine wit,
a harmony of discordant blue and handbag,
carrying congratulation, a fan of flowers.

Look up,
London,
at your wheel,
so out of scope.

Look up,
London,
beyond,
see tomorrow's empire:

would you dare.