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
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