Miami International

 
Seven hours was the wait
Till dawn did show her grace,
And troubled slumber
To rough a wake
In this a sterile place.
 

The journey home, however long
Are miles counted away,
A long stretched glance
To horizons gone
From dawn till dusk a day.
 

Scents of fleur from lands gone by
Paris, Spain and Rome
Are gone when winds
Rush to my nose
The lovely grass of home.