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Poem: Provocation I 

Round the great ring of my walled city
You march
Sweeping like the hand of a clock
The leg of a compass
The spoke of a turning wheel,
Arms of lightning outstretched
To measure the bounds of my domain.

Swift surge of urgency
Swelling my founts
My watermains and waterspouts
Sweeping down avenues, boulevards
Feeling your way through underground alleys
Dredging out my harbors
For commerce with your fleets;
Enfoliating my parks with leaf
Green ears of hedge and moss;
Cozying in my hideaways
Flooding my halls with song
My windowpanes with beams of light
My weathervanes with wind;
Raiser of citadels:

Where you march I will march
Where your feet rest so rest my own.
What you build in me of brick and steel
I shall build in you with stone.

Round the great ring of my walled city
My city of eleven gates
You march on swiftly
Arms of lightning outstretched
To measure the bounds of my domain.

Speaking of...

  • A poem by R. Dionysius Whiteurs

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