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The Best City Poems

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In This Place

I am the weed
In a crack in the pavement
Dismantling concrete
Crumbling foundations
In this man made world
Rooted in the earth
Despite the city
I am the seed


Composed for Line Gauthier's
Zen Poetry Contest

Copyright © Maureen McGreavy | Year Posted 2018

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9 11

                             America the Free  ~             America the Brave ~
                           Freedom with price              Capitalism attacked
                            the many taken                   hearts broken still
                              one World                           try to rebuild
                            sadness and tears               fall hard with fears  
                            guilt by association             many accused still
                             souls evaporated                shattered dreams 
                            tears fall on innocence          left with anger 
                             The proud fearless             knew the inevitable
                              policeman fireman             many lives lost
                            grieving does not stop           12 years later    
                               New York city once          proud  & shameless 
                             refusing to let fears in          protecting ours 
                                left in shock still              question's unanswered                    
                               nothing learned                     nothing gained  
                                ready to attack                   many left behind
                              anger greets denial              anger meets rage 
                               unacceptable still                 refusing new love 
                            wanting days to rewind           let us go back in time 
                              acceptance  allowing           the victims leave in peace
                              the brave taken young           leaving us sadly old
                               haunting dreams                     lost spirits dwell
                               no answers to hate            never forgetting that day
                               Evil entered suddenly              unforgiving fate
                                entering our City                we stand with the fallen
                                 How to fix                            how do we Change 

            This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~


Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

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I dreamed a dream of You

Yesterday I dreamed a dream,
that had no end.
You in your white gown, and long, black hair flowing.
You were calling my name.
I heard you, but I couldn't reach you!

And when I say your soul was tainted.
You went out in the night life.
You dressed in your black, evening ball gown.
You danced till the Red Sun came out, over the horizon.

You smiled at me.
A flame in my heart burned red hot!
My knees and hands shook with nerves;
Nerves of love and joy.
I blew you a kiss,
but you turned away!
Oh, please don't turn away from me,
for I would die, if it happened again!

Your beautiful and golden heart showed me the truth.
The truth that every gentleman wants to hear.
I've seen you walk the streets,
in the blue dawn of August.
As I followed you, you stopped and looked at me.
You smiled so beautifully, and my heart fluttered into oblivion!

You walked with your friends and I went my way.
I couldn't find a single trace of you that day.
I cried out "Why did I leave her like this?!"
I looked for you, all over the courtyards and town squares!
Yet no sight of your beauty.
... No sight of your golden heart, that I hold so dear to mine.
Where did you go?
Why did you leave?
Why did I leave... that is the question!

I should have stayed by your side,
till the ends of time.

Yet I had left.

One gloomy and parish midnight.
I came along a road,
and soon found myself in front of a wayward cafe.
Smiling faces all around me.
I spotted a beautiful face that outstood all the other faces around me.
It was yours.

Your face brought me to sanity and I went over too you!
You spotted me and tried to run!
I caught you in the dirty hallway and pulled you in.

Our eyes met and I fell in love once again.
Sanity re-entered my mind, body and soul.
I kissed you and you kissed back.
You held my hand, and we left the cafe and walked down the street.

The street was gloomy, yet we together brightened the dark street.
We went back to the lit up city streets, of the lands filled with smiling faces,
and we fell in love and slept together.

You lay there in my restless arms and I gave you a sweet kiss,
upon your sweet and soft head.
Your dark hair was sweet smelling and felt of silk.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep with you,
there in my arms and we dreamed together
till the morning came and woke me up,
and took you away from my weak and weary arms.

I dreamed a dream of you.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

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Night Driving

I want to take a drive tonight
through a maze of half-lit roads
paved in onyx shadows.
I want to follow starry streets
that roll in waves of cold concrete
beneath the opal moon.
I want to cruise across the city
through pockets of rose gold light
that bury me in brightness
before throwing me back into night. 
I want to merge with this sea of speed,
hear that feline engine purr,
watch the world fly by in abstraction--
an incandescent blur.
I want to join the glowing ribbon 
of headlight pearls on midnight highways 
that twirl and spin in shimmering arcs 
of taillight rubies.

Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013

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House of the Tragic Poet

Two thousand years, a tragedy is past
Yet it's history still leaves us aghast.

On a night, dreadfully dark
A  volcano erupted, leaving it's historical mark

Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD
The first recorded in all of history

The entire city of Pompeii
Defiled and buried that fateful day

On written account of a man named Pliny
can we view this volcano's ignominy

A city in which artist and poets did reside
Everything was not  lost, the day all died

In centuries after, excavation has commenced
The city of Pompeii, antiquities recovered since

The House of the Tragic Poet, one of many unearthed
I will tell you about, from it's peristyle to hearth

Elaborate mosaic floors, frescoes on the wall
An inscription in Latin, from a dog guarding the hall.

The atrium filled with with Mythic Greek nudes
From the peristyle Achilles to be sacrificed exudes

Art along the east wall are of Achilles and Briseis 
and the tragedy of Helen and Paris, all cherished

About the entire house, a living poem depicted
Along with words, owner, an artist addicted.

Two thousand years ago, this home was owned
Loved and nourished by a Popeiian unknown.

The House of the Tragic Poet
If you saw, you would know it.

A. Green

Copyright © Amy Green | Year Posted 2010

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My City

Of the Gods own country of this paradise where green and blue merge as one in the north is a city that encompass the beauty where the dream lands meet lined by kaasaraka trees where seven tongues are spoken and a unique lingo was woken lined by shores and calm beaches which meets with forts of ancient elegance who can pass by with no notice the mountains high and hillocks of beauty forests green and tranquil rivers places of worship, unique structures renowned for coir and handloom and for its customs varied The people here, with a smile of warmth welcoming with open arms known for their variety dishes which does prick ones tastebuds of the sense of fashion who can beat their passion and their thirst for knowledge is to be acknowledged fame it has know from times of yore of the arts and culture it beholds this is the city of budding talents feel the vibe and do relent © Nadiya(14 May '15)
*Chosen poem of the day on 16 May 2015

Copyright © poesy relish | Year Posted 2015

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Prayer for the City

Prayer for the City

Dear God,
How heavy are my thoughts tonight!
I feel the ills of the city, pressing, pressing.
For all the young people being arrested, right now. 
Lord, hear my prayer.
For a hand lifting in anger toward another
For the body that prostitutes to feed the need 
For all those in captivity of any kind
Lord, hear my prayers.
For the protecting of a child in danger
For the sacred souls in all children
Lord, hear my prayers
For those who sit under bridges, doorways and plastic bags
Lord, hear my prayer
For every siren wail and 911 call
For every doctor waging war with a bullet or knife hole
Lord, hear my prayers
For every noisy, cramped, dysfunctional, roach infested house where
a flower blooms,
Lord, hear my prayer.

social justice free verse 
Sponsored by: John Hamilton 

Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2017

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Once long ago there was a clear blue sky
Where roamed free bird and butterfly
That’s when came the idea to super citify
And to pollution creators deify
All put their brain power to diversify

Silenced anyone who dared go awry
Soon mile high skyscrapers did gratify
And every square inch did occupy
Way too many to quantify
So it was nature they did damnify

Now skies are filled with traffic jams that horrify
Greenish rain waters that relentlessly acidify
Mountain-high billboard ads that do electrify
An extravagance of gadgets enough to stupefy
Implanted technology meant to dehumanify

In light of superfluity, let me just plainly oversimplify
Scientists need to eat a big piece of humble pie
There’s just no way to justify
Why colourful sunsets went by the by
And why no one remembers the aroma of apple pie   

Submitted on March 4, 2018, for contest SCIENCE FICTION sponsored by DEBORAH GUENTHER BEACHBOARD  -  HONORABLE MENTION

Copyright © Line Gauthier | Year Posted 2018

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Flashing lights and glitter
In the wee hours of the morn
Strange variety of critters
Walking about the streets
Suspicious characters
Nothing like the daytime breed
Nocturnal creepy crawlers
Lurking creatures of the dark
Till sunrise washes over
And the receding tide
Sweeps clean the streets
Under a most forgiving sun

posted on January 19, 2019

Copyright © Line Gauthier | Year Posted 2019

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Strolling around town 
At prohibited time 
Ignoring the church bell sounds
While I see people hurrying 
Down the sidewalk
On their way to work 

Think maybe I'll find 
Pen and paper
And have a coffee somewhere 

Or maybe not

Copyright © Steinar Gismeroy Olafsen | Year Posted 2014

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Who's Who

Who's who in the New York Zoo? 
Said the clown with a funny face.
Many different cultures.
Within the human race.
Who's who in the New York Zoo? 
A lion, a bear, an elephant, a giraffe.
Many different animals.
All which make us laugh.
Who's who in the New York Zoo? 
A barber, a tailor, a dressmaker's store.
Many different occupations.
Make your way through the door.
A Catholic, A Christian, A Saint, and A Jew.
Many different religions.
While we feed Central Park's pigeons.
Who's who in the New York Zoo? 
Said the man with a great big shoe.
Find your subway to paridise! 

Zoo York Poetry By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2010,2014..All rights reserved

Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2014

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the day you flew to Heaven

           We knew , it was if a moment stopped in time 
              hearing the news before most of the World did
           He loved to fly his plane from Colorado to Monterey Bay
           He was a avid golfer at Pebble Beach respected 

           He had loves and passions from many places 
           deciding to fly low through the overcast red sunset
            Not only did he love music and inspire all 
            He loved his Plane , he will always remain a beautiful Soul

              The next day it was confirmed ..all saddened 
             It was John Denver's plane that went down
             Today in Pacific Grove stands the Memorial 
             So Kiss me and smile for me we will ~
              always in loving memory 
               OH babe ,  do we hate you go ~    

         Inspired by ; contest in Music and Loss of an Artist
                   "Leaving on a Jet Plane "

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

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I was bored in Manhattan that day So decided to pay for a lay He was handsome and young And was VERY well hung I walked like John Wayne all of the day Thanks to James Fraser's Bored In Manhattan poem for the inspiration! Just make me laugh contest Sponsored by Christine Lehman 27th December 2015

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

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Beautiful Beirut

As the moon smiles down on the sparkling Mediterranean
The gentle rolling hills
Reach bejeweled fingers into the sea
Spilling the overflow of sparkling lights
Onto fishing boats that dot the horizon
The irregular coastline, encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires, flirts with lovers in parked cars who melt into each other's embrace

nature orchestrates
hills and sea move in rhythm
heavenly music

The statue of Virgin Mary smiles down from the pinnacle of a hill
Lower down, above a river, the statue of Jesus the King, 
with arms outstretched, reminds city dwellers that He is ever present: watching, reaching, loving, and blessing

The constant sound of music floats on the night air
A strange melodic marriage of East and West:  Arabic, English, and French
Languages that coexist sometimes within a single sentence.

Overhead, cable cars pass over the highway, seeking a holy destination 
Carrying passengers to the cathedral of Virgin Mary
Where they make pilgrimage up the winding staircase of the statue, asking for forgiveness, seeking solace…penance for their sins.
Others who wait for them at the base of the statue look out over Beirut
Reflecting on life as they view the spectacular beauty spread below them,
Twinkling lights of hope in a country still bearing the ravages of war
The eternal sea a sure promise of continuity, stability and strength.

veil covers the night
moon and stars are not silent
beauty has a voice

Beirut at night- an enchanting place where history and modernity make love under the admiring gaze of tourists. Majestic minarets and splendid steeples pierce the solemn sky, silent witnesses of the need for the adherents of the two main religions in this city to coexist in peace. 

At times, my little heart just cannot take in the beauty around me. I’m overwhelmed as I thrust my head out the window of our car…in search of liberation. I let the wind play in my hair, exhilarating me with each dreamy caress! I let the lights on the fishing boats, yachts, and cargo ships, woo my heart to adventurous shores beyond my limited ones of existence. I let the hills dazzle me with their display of multicolored lights…seducing my senses to live alternate lives of those dwelling within the halo of each light. And when the beauty is more than I can take in, I look up into the night sky where the moon and the stars serenade my heart and promise me a beautiful tomorrow in this mesmerizing city of life, light, and love…Beirut!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013

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Myself in Urban Chaos

Here I go again, focused on myself.
Remembering, analyzing,
Memorializing tragedy.
Thinking, endless thinking.
Suicides, death of grandmas, past loves.
Pining about passions and losses.
The condo I had to let go.
The jobs I left behind.
And the cemetery lots.
My mind wonders around in circles.
From darkness to darkness, city to city,
Job to job, decision to decision 
My children, I embrace with love.
Those years riddled with joys and pains.
Trying, always trying, 
Yet, still disappointed.
Clinging to religion, remembering God.
Accepting –
Then, the child in me curls up
Safe in my warm cocoon,
And I think of you in the next room.
Life made new, fear subdued.
The touch of your hand, my confidence renews.
That forever love so long wanted, found at last.
The pressures I once knew moved to the past.
To the outside world I say adieu.
I was lost in the hollow of myself.
Outside of myself, I found peace. 
Memories blot out urban chaos
And focus on woodland happy days.
Struggles not so painful anymore.
Peace found its hope in you.
…And then, we spoon.

Copyright January 15, 2014

Written for Poetry Soup member contest: Contemporary Figurative Artiste Stephanie Deshpande in Contemporary Free Rhyme Free Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by Cyndi MacMillan.

Inspired by Stephanie Deshpande’s portrait of a Sleeping Child

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2014

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Lonely Streets

City streets spew fire on sunburnt July day.
Dabbing sweat from brow, I meld into paved sea. 
Mick cries out "Angie" from quaint corner café;
slowing steps, I search his stripped-bare poignancy.

Strangers strut in sync with street’s allegro beat.
Pigeons peck concrete, hungry coos offbeat.
Sullen faces fall, diverting weary eyes.
Souls emit loneliness lost in sad goodbyes.

Exhaust squeezes my chest with each poisoned breath;
choking on my tears, I smell acrid deceit.  
Amid spinning wheels, a stranger till my death.
On wide city streets, crowds rush by in defeat.  

A restless, hazy sun sinks to moonless night.
Senses become keen with city’s fading light.
Midnight hour comes to call, taunting my dark heart.
Angel wings span streets as nameless child departs.

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

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Smart and Final Prose

Daylight fades, a city pulsates, and traffic is reflected in store windows.  
Hurrying headlights come out of the darkness. 
They crisscross like dueling knights.  People in the crosswalk scamper 
as if squirrels and streetlights leer gleaming yellow eyes, like watchful hawks.
The shrill trumpets of the charging gale force winds, rattle an awning,
and newly planted maple saplings bend and sway 
in random pairs.  Set in concrete planters, they hang on by tender rooted toes. 
Pages of a discarded newspaper are hurled into the air, 
buoyed on the steely breath of a frigid winter evening.  
Several leaflets scatter into the street and down the sidewalk,
into the path of one lone pedestrian.
He slaps away the sports page, that flies into his chapped, red face. 
Without hesitation, this castaway vagrant, down and out 
by the rape of hard times, will accept an offered dime,
from a passing man in a Red Sox ball cap. 
Head bent low, face hidden, a worn and dirty pea coat
pulled tightly around his thin frame, he carries all his meager belongings
in a large paper grocery bag, wrinkled and beginning to tear. 
Serving as his satchel, the brown bag, damp and worn, 
still displays big bold red and black letters 
advertising "Smart and Final Grocery"--"Located in Three Convenient Locations".
A city bus roars by, splashing through three days of rain, 
and a siren and a blaring horn is heard from the next block. 
The dark silhouetted outcast, stops for a moment, 
peers into a sidewalk trash receptacle, then continues slowly down the sidewalk.
A taxi pulls up along the curb behind him, and the attractive couple, 
dressed in evening wear, emerge, pay for their taxi, and arm in arm, 
enter Mario's Italian Restaurant, the brick bistro 
that sits on the corner of Broadway and 1st. 
It begins to rain again, and across the street people open umbrellas 
and like the afore mentioned squirrels, they scurry home to supper.
The lone man walks in the rain, his pace doesn't quicken, his voice never spoken, 
a spirit broken, ............ his sack held together by circumstance. 
A passerby takes a brief glance...just a quick, chanced moment, 
to take notice of "Smart and Final's" last stance. 

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

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Before the City Wakes

Come, walk with me in this early dawn while the darkness fades in solitude As first light appears, and moon drifts on we will drink in the quiet interlude Wet blankets of fog will lift away wearing soft slippers of slow retreat We'll greet early risers starting the day drink fresh brewed coffee, and stroll the streets The beat, the strand of sidewalk noise Gains timbre as the traffic mocks Once more the world regards it's toys Of cars, and horns, and ticking clocks Before the bustling city quakes Let's stroll before the monster wakes
-------------------------------------------------------------- 6/18/16 For Contest: Sounds of the Day Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2016

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Patradoot or The Messenger 29 /Many

Patradoot or The Messenger29 /Many 
English version by  Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

These young boys and girls,  were brought up,  
By their parents, with great love and affection, 
Now they are mad, in love for their motherland,
To show the splendors of their youthful energy.

They are ready even to sacrifice their heads,
What to say of body pains and tortures inflicted on them, 
By seeing such fearlessness and energy of their youth,
Even the enemy gets ashamed of, dear letter.

Triloki was one of these young boys, 
Who happily took bullets on his chest, dear letter,
And kept on moving ahead without withdrawing,
Keeping the dignity of our nation and Satyagraha.


You will find my beautiful city Allahabad,* 
In an ecstasy and full of rapture, flowing in it’s air,
When you will move on its roads and streets,
Along with the Postman, dear letter.


Kanpur India 12th August 2010                        to continue in 30


* Allahabad		Also know as Prayag or Triveni is the most ancient city
                                    of India, where river Ganga and Yamuna now meets at
                                    the holy place called Sangam.

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around  1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994. 


Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2010

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Inner City

Broken windows give no reflection
graffiti for those who can read

concrete streets are polluted rivers
passing shoes leave bodies in need

disillusion is a crumbled sidewalk
stretching to an intersection of who cares

empty eyes follow shadows that wander
stolen clothes from the morgue to wear 

hope is a night's survival passing
when sounds of gunfire are heard

silence comes from gang handshakes
pigeons and crows the only bird

A bell that rings in the distance
the church the preacher will rob

players and pimps with tin cups
approach the stampeding mob

a moat of suburbs surround
gates to the castle are locked

guards at ramparts bleed blue
guns are always cocked

a cry only heard by those crying
in a dirty world of make believe

tomorrow finds another broken window
a rock by a child that can't leave


Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2017

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Civilization in Hard Copy

The mark of a world elite not seen in Casablanca but gives a serene-feel for any stone to become a lover. Sweet Paris- Europe’s geographic butterfly so captivating and orgasmic, better than any screensaver. Land and water, city mates in wonderful and nice Venice prosperity and suitors flocking in like an angry river. Standard of living, magnified with rare lenses in silent Geneva proves that if you cannot be the heart, be the liver. America crossing borders, settling in Sidney exploits of the human mind, nowhere near over. Oh Africa! Buckle up and don’t say never Asia is your excellent teacher, learn and wait not forever.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016

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Street Smarts

If throughout the city you are a roamer, you will see the word "civilization" is a misnomer. It looks like a city, but it's a jungle out there. When walking down the streets, one must take extra care. There are liars, cheats, and crooks galore. Nothing has changed. It's the same as before. What does it take to make a right from a wrong? Citizens must be street smart and strong. inspired by another member's poem

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014

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Twinkle Twinkling Lights

Twinkle twinkling lights beyond beyond my house. . . out to where the mountains meet low and blackened clouds. Twilight time in January all is bathed in gray. No rainbowed hues dance hither to tag this winter's day. Out to where the lights across the valley towns are a myriad of fireflies that flicker flicker round . . . their circle ever grows as evenfall grows thicker. People settle in. The temperature will drop. Night . . . and soon more lightning bugs will join in the throng, absorbing all the warmth of all the others' twinkle twinkling lights. (The city of Pleasant Grove and surrounding Utah Valley cities in January from twilight to night.) For Deb's Contest: City Lights Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012

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Muscatine, IA

Mark Twain recalled my town for its extraordinary sunsets.
Under rainbows too, I’ve seen its rows of corn stalks glow.
Summertime brings big scrumptious melons famous for being the best!
Come winter, you can ice skate or sled down hills of snow.
At one time, Muscatine gave refuge to escaping slaves.
The largest black community used to once live there!
Indians of Iowa built large mounds for graves.
Nearby you can see some parks with green mounds everywhere,
Evoking times when natives thrived upon this land so fair.

Idyllic is this area; its beauty you must view.
A city on the mighty Mississippi waits for you!

For the Where are You From Contest of Joseph Soper

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

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In My City, Pleasant Grove

Nearby a desert, trees and peace both flourish in my city, Pleasant Grove.

Written Oct. 3, 2016 For the Where I Live One Liner Contest of Silent One. 
*Pleasant Grove is a small city of Utah, USA, not far from capital, Salt Lake City

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016