A London

London,
strange syllable city,
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 in feminine wit,
a harmony of discordant blue and handbag,
carrying congratulation, a fan of flowers.

Look up,
London,
at the sky’s circle,
so small,
so out of scope.

Look up,
London,
beyond,
far beyond,
see tomorrow’s empire

would you dare.





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