Great Western City
It's hardly anything
An uneven skyline
Pastel houses pouring
Into another valley
Fold and twist and
Unexpected direction
Lending the merely
Functional dignity
Cathedrals of commerce
Learning and dwelling
And journey where
Every direction is Great
A city somehow rural
Still of the land
Homes built
From the same stone
Their seeping foundations
Were hewn from
Below and above
And in between
Scraps of unbuildable
Banks colonised
By sycamore
Bluebell and bramble
And every street has an artist
Every surface brick
Or bridge of riveted iron
A canvas a block
To be sculpted by this
Romantic industry
Before I step
Onto the train
Back to my scrap
Of Eastern land
That was lucky to not
Become city
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