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The Streets of a Busy City

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Wafting through the air,
a sweet smell.
A bitter stench,
broken through, a knell.

The creed of man,
proves fruitful.
Men on the streets,
powerful, colourful.

Stands on corners,
shouting never fades.
Busy families hustle along,
people of all shades.

Some broken wood,
and splintered glass.
A torn sign, plastic,
twisted brass.

Chaos there, phantom leaps,
in a world,
The city that never sleeps,
begins to seem -

As the city that always weeps.

Dawn is coming,
those who hold on.
Must be loving,
in our putrid world.

Disgust may fill us,
draw from anger.
Life may tell us,
that we are unworthy.

Unjust, are we humans.
Unfair, is the city.
The city that never sleeps,
is really the city that always weeps.




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