Treasure Island

Vera Sidhwa


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Tropical City

Speak to me of youth, and breezes warmed by the sun
The breezes that falter down cool alleys
In the city built in the sun

Speak to me of flower vendors, and the beggar boys that run
The old ones who stagger through dusty roads
Of a city built in the sun

And I'll tell you of a hundred days when I wished all was well

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