Lumps and rocks and rolls with streets the tide fills
Old buildings creak and budge within the close quarters of each other
Sharing rooves and walls generously
The dark wooden floor boards release an odor of antiques
decades and centuries buried into the brickwork
Rain rushes into the stony village to tax it's dust and dirt
with it's own rivers
Each long street a line toward the townships hopes for tomorrow
As the temperature reaches thirty three degrees
And the blue and white sweat endlessly
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