Comments Inbox
| |
About This Poem
Little victories
The city moves and laughs and sings
Of lurid lights and fancy things
Of static electricity
And many opportunities
The acid clouds are dismal gray
Leave not a single trace of day
Wind withers and regains its speed
A buried, lonely poplar seed
But while the city screams and clanks
And people march in suited ranks
A little light the clouds do show
Wait now, the seed begins to grow
|
|
|