Great city ravaged by choice
And hardened by election.
There once were high buildings.
The children played upon your stoops,
And in the evening:
A twilight call.
And hop-scotch ceased
and the pavement was littered
with jump rope.

And as the sun,
Glinting through the troughs and peaks
Of banks and apartments
And smoke stacks,
Fell to its rest beneath
Distant dales,
There was, perhaps, a prayer
Over spaghetti or


Great city fueled by progress,
Each breath a tower babel.
The high buildings overturned,
The children all chalk,
Ground to powder
In wheels of progress.
And a harsh wind howls
Past a bereaved mother.

And the Spirit of God moved
Upon the chaos as before,
Judgment executed by his creation.
And you, O City, stood on you back
in obstinacy
And refusal of your redemption.
And the Spirit found a spirit seed
with which to propagate himself.