In a sea of gray skyscrapers and concrete,
The familiarity of suburban row houses,
Screeching subways and honking cars,
A little quiet doesn’t exist.
No giant sequoias or wildlife here,
But the charming London planes
Scattered across the streets
Offer some green.
Within this steel metropolitan glamour,
Pockets of peace can be found,
In the space of a small yard,
Beside a sapling fig tree.
As the wind blows on a restless summer eve,
The susurrus of leaves and twigs
Create a soundscape redolent
Of the distant forest.