The Girl from Smyrna

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 —

Where the girls would rather smell of seaweed
In the hair of mermaids on far-flung rocks
As they dream their far-flung dreams
And listen as the seagulls soar —

Where the girls would rather smell of the winds
That pick up at the Aegean coast
And while they murmur to the seashells,
Feel the better for it all.