POEM: Picturesque City

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contrail-crossed cool blue skies-
contrails catching hints of some pink-orange hue

amber sunlight sails in sideways,
so all surfaces either glow warmth,
or hunch in dank shadow

no foul winds blow through the cold air and cleansing rays, so the city is psychically scrubbed

bold buildings and muscular mansions age with a grace rarely seen in our kind, but known in the weathered silver-hairs who draw envious glances to their last breath

even the haunting neo-Gothic rooftops and grotesque gargoyles only pull the city from sweet to charming

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