Mosholu Parkway (The Marriage of Mercury and Philology) by McEvoy Campbell
Where I was borne by the winds the Mosholu Parkway ends
in green: there a Hanging Garden grows
amidst supreme Art Deco rows that rhyme.
Patricia was my Sunday driver. Where she took me God was sure to go, as the Alexandriatic Beacon shines its light for all to see.
And beneath the Holly trees the House of Poe sublimely breathes
in time with the traffic lights that line
the Grand Concourse of the mind and soul.
By the grave of Herman Melville Pierre sang his song of love to me. Woodlawn and her sister Linwood know the gates of heaven are close by.
And the pure prophetic power of Anslem and John in Flower
survives the Middle Ages left behind
in boxes once meant for wine not books.
When the Sunset Park tomatoes ripen then the D train sails for free in the shadow of DeWitt Clinton's dream that Life and Death and Truth are One.
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