Abroad Too Long Poem by Sophia White

Walking down the cobbled street,
Wondering distantly how old those stone were
And looking with disinterest at the cathedrals,
And the columns and arches that rise
Like a great garden of stone flowers
That I cannot pick.

Hearing the muted strains of a violin
From some unseen corner where some unseen
Frustrated musician is playing for forints,
And I feel the sorrow in each strike of the bow
Reverberate against my tired bones
In a sepulchral strain.

Thoughtlessly tossing pebbles into the river,
Then realizing I am tossing coins,
So I pour out my purse with melancholic abandon
And let the river have its fun,
Because I have had my fill of it,
And want only to go home.