The City

The City

Dead? No, a city always seems alive
It throbs with life from eight to five.

Later, it puts on neon glitter
And parties till midnight or later.

It sends long roads snaking out
To lasso fields, make houses sprout.

Its towers stretch their arms up high
And breathe out smog into the sky.

Underground, its arteries transport merchandise,
Men and material and vital supplies.

Often, it flushes its wastes to the sea
Through a river, although recently

It’s woken to responsibility, has grown,
And recycles, reuses, that which was thrown

The city can never go back to its past
Become again the village that it was.

Ever growing, consuming, evolving,
Maybe in time, cleverly solving

The problem of fitting in the human race
Into a habitat that creates enough space

For the flora and fauna that make the Earth whole
And nourish humanity, its body and soul.

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