166. Glasgow

Glasgow, oh Glasgow,
What shall I say to thee?
Thy industrialized splendor
Is faded memory!
While I lurked in the Necropolis,
Taking photos of the Church,
My phone malfunctioned, and I was left
With more city left to search.
Thy smokestacks and thy mountains,
Like a Victorian Petersburg,
Will remain uncaptured, and soon forgot –
Though this fate, thou might prefer.
Thy bitter cold has left me nothing
But that drawing mental-screen
Over the stage that’s set for Glasgow –
I’ll grasp out for what I’ve seen.