With an ambience to set the mood while you read. — They call it a town
Where the girls would rather smell of the sea,
And the winding streets behind the crooked bricks
Would birth saltwater in their cracks — The girl walks, aimless, towards a distant past,
Homer’s home, the ancient ruins, collapsed
Around the sailors’ nets and fishing calls…
The waves that wax and wane, they claim Their once and future host, the port
And beacon call to artistic hope,
Smyrna —