The Old Port Of York

To Mr. Port of York

If this was to be my last, let it be my very best.

The rhymes of a carved poem hides the journey of a teen
Line by line the verse marks each shy steps of a dream
Eyes field with ! paints secret desire to unite as a team
The pier's new silhouette bridge places he has never ever been
How the heart skips a musical note on the internet to be seen

Mind full of ? the old Port of York turned from brown to green
Rust colored spots marked the unhappiness of an harbor's been
Mr. Port of York was set in his first born gauche ways so mean
Constant metal creaks nurtured rhythm to his blues unclean
Mouth full of bubble soap a teen chased a mirage smoke screen

-- Louis Mercier