i love you, City. but i fear for you
and what your citizens shall do to us
in years to come. your concrete chimney flue
cancer won't be the worst of it; they'll fuss
at your fall-colored history, and shy
from bitter sweat and oppressive Rust ache.
sterile tales will these tell--no sons of thy
muddy womb, no more such cruel river strength
we knew before. it rains in my City;
shy citizens peer out for salvation,
river rain washing clean our gutter grease.
oh bide our sins, Urbana: years shall come
to shake the bitter dust of
September '09
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