The marine sky has never met its end;
Must paradise be otherwise condemned?
Soaring through each country’s treasures I feel
The rustling roots revolt against relent,
And with the soles of my feet their eyes mend;
Taciturn walls hand me their cunning ears
And the wind sprinkles stolen symphonies;
Coquettish waves of lovely reminisce,
Oh, how you strip scabs of angst with thy kiss;
Years before what was once spirit and bone,
Today brick and rock with rivers of gold;
But concealed are its forgotten fathers,
Whose significance alone does color
Cities with great history and glamor.