The High-Rise
Red-eyed, sleepy, early in the morning,
The sun calls out to me
As I greet it from my rooftop.
The sun calls out to me
As I greet it from my rooftop.
“Help”, it pleads.
“The South City towers grow alarmingly
And soon will block my path.”
Helpless, I try to explain.
“Man’s desire to rise
from the squalor on the ground
Gives shape to the towering sky-scrapers.
For nearness to GOD today is
Much in Demand.”
Looks like you are vying for a spot in the fresh edition of "Panorama". Keep it up!
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