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Inspired by William Wordsworth
July 9, 2014
Never has thy city worn a fragrance more sweet
Than thy sun’s tender exhalations
As the salty acid of air fills her plump nostrils
And she empties her honeyed breath unto
The bated slopes of mountain and river
Of edifice and house of big and of small
Redolent of the sweet lulls of nature
Of forgotten child and forgotten womb
How she, thy sun willing exchanges
Her good divine air for ours of not
How angelic trapezes of air can
Muddle the rhetoric of our landscape
Architecture mere folds of plaited hair
As Mother gently sings us back to sleep
© Tanya T., Galesburg, IL
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