Omaha - Poem by Michael Walker
You are the city of my childhood,
Where the Spirit moved over the water
To give to my spirit the highest good:
The Blood of the Lamb sent to the slaughter.
I recall your cozy neighborhoods
Beneath white clouds amidst the greenery,
Enraptured with the hills, the bluffs, the woods -
O, serenity of such scenery!
Alas! Misery of the Missouri
And the Platte Rivers flows into your streets,
So in your bricks we smell the potpourri
Of America - peat, wheat, and meats.
Omaha is America's heart,
And from her bosom I will never part.
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