Hush! There sleeps a big town; a city-
In the quiet it screams like the bus that rollers down
The street, with its gravels and gritty
Dreams of factories with a mowed lawn.
Look, and say what it be!
Blustering be the cast,
Or a damsel in heart unfree?
Oh and did I tell you of its past?
Quite an oldie I should think.
Close your eyes now, and 'spire
Into the waxy aroma at the brink
of, ere the cataclysm, myrrh.
Clever flakes make a dusty ride,
Into, of yours and mine, noses
And reminds of quite the stilled
Protests of men and women and kids back in the ages.
Hark! Don't you hear the life pump
In and out of the city veins!
Rise and false sallow sump
In the lowest of the plains.
Come, lets touch that what remain
Of the dead. Memoirs?
What else? They floored even
The graves. Dust to dust, but the spirit yet soars.
This is the carcass of a city,
Once happening, no more so.
But this is a cycle. Witty
Men will come to take them further low.
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