Opulent land of, Noise and colour, Ordered in lines, Paved in gold. Buildings in endless, Rise and fall. Land but not,
My land - here, I stand alone. Diaspora made flesh, With false memories, Passed in family, A hereditary disease, The terrible fear,
The cruel discovery, Of poor beginnings, Clings to my, Linen suit and, New York soul. But hey, ain't That just life,
Old Sport. G.