I gaze down from a balcony
across the dim lit streets,
The same old moon, but yellow here-
Sea and dark sky meets.
Warm the wind and still the sound
Figs and lemons dress the trees,
Warm-the breeze and still-the sound
-a far off shout in Portuguese.
Old shanty town next door to this,
The thought of which i blush in shame,
And yet my searching heart delights
in beauty there that has no name.
As we bask and soak the heat,
Night time comes as daylight goes,
My Lord looks down and sees my soul
as i count the huts in rows.
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