The skyscraper age is not an edifice, Man made dwellings, built in lonesome majesty. Propped up universally like a sapient

Along the simple line- a stream of pebbles— on the unruffled forehead of a wall in joyful and large openings.

And once again I erase, Ideas rubbed against the grays of my brain, Obliterated. Drafting a design again, Plotting for

A hundred times did his mother try Stop him from playing in the mud A hundred times did he cry

Two lovers, Separated by time, Long to be, In each others arms. If he is up, She will climb, Just

Compelled to fathom this engagement, Courage must be sought for the impending swarm; For when the gates fall down, All