In my youth I slept high on a hill
Perched in my nest, overlooking
A vast expanse of fens and meadows
Just beyond which gleamed New York.
Like a drop in a cloud,
The more I grew,
The more it’s gravity attracted me.
Alluring, beguiling, luring
The teeming tumult ebbed and surged
It was Atlantic, this city,
Deep, dirty, stormy at times.
Somehow verdant, if not green.
Bright lights simmering,
It’s pulse, quickening.
that hill was a beach
And I watched that city, like mesmerising waves,
Until there was nothing left
But to follow the black topped river
Called route 3, and like countless
Millions before me, add my energy
To that contrivance, and like a drop of rain,
Lose myself in that ocean