Old Roads of St. Augustine
rating: +8+x

Tell me again, of that old city.
Where the water tastes like wine.
And the sun shines evermore.

I hear the peacocks still sing,
late in the evening.
Between guarded fences,
and thick thickets.

They say it gets hotter every year,
but is that true in Castillo De San Marcos?
That fort could last a millenia.
Of bricked rock and coquina.
Even as the world turns to ash,
and the oceans into sawdust.

Does the sea mist still spray,
I wonder?
Under ancient overpasses,
amidst trolleys and rustling voices.

Cloaked familiarity,
shrouded wistfulness.
Chlorine and salt water.
Storms over southern cities.

Flagler built this place,
with his own two hands.
Aged eyes and solar panels,
history’s gaze on future channels.

Later, I’ll grow flowers in its absence.
Admist the ghosts time can’t shake.

So sayonara, bye bye, ciao.
With love.

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