Southern Belle

Upon Greenwich hill I stare
through swaying maples,
at grand temples of wealth;
unenvious of their material souls.

I long not for their goods
to adorn my soul,
to collect their fiat wealth,
to amass my self worth.

Instead I search inward,
for an intangible whole,
for completion found
in blissful quiet.

Here,
among birds and maritime air
I rest seated on the earth.
Illuminated by the sun’s rare kiss.
Flooded by the words of Qabbani,
quietened by verses of love’s retreat.

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