I sold my brownstone windows full of leaves, moved to where the stern stones of corporations sun-glower windows down at me. The only green is the hanging gardens of Manhattan where terrace steps on leafy terrace blooming geraniums, clematis, and pastel profusions of petunias. I'd expected the querulous exchanges of cars and trucks, the garbage dinosaurs at 2 AM which grind up restaurant trash between their molars, but not St. Thomas's bells jubilating on Sunday morning or to wake at midnight in a past century to horses' hooves, their clopping rhythm muffled in fresh snow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEAF HOUSE AGENT by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE NEW APOCRYPHA: BUSINESS REVERSES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MODERN PARAPHRASE OF SHAKESPEARE'S SONNET 29 by GEORGE SANTAYANA RHYMES OF THE DAY by GEORGE SANTAYANA |