Somewhere in this dismal district,
obscured behind the queasy thrum
of engines ever trembling,
and sweatshops overrun by greed,
and mutterings of much despair,
and angers brewing everywhere,

a kindness thrives,
a bright mind grows

unlikely love becomes and knows
a blessedness awaits outside
these squalid streetscapes made to hide
the promise of a better day.

In spite of that,
please hear them pray:

the voice no noises drown or still,
the faithful ones by windowsills,
those poets who extol the light,
the wakeful dreamers keeping night
from darker horror, smog, or hate.

No concrete here constrains their fate.