Here in Chicago I sit in the sun <br />of an Indian Summer <br />high on the Water Tower waiting, <br /> <br />chapped hands in a visor <br />over my eyes, hoping I see <br />you in that gown, <br /> <br />black satin and grace, <br />float like a feather <br />back to Chicago. <br /> <br />I don't care if you stop <br />by Confederate streams <br />on the way from Savannah <br /> <br />to pick phallic rocks <br />so long as you rise, <br />release all your hair, <br /> <br />take to the air <br />and float like a feather <br />on to Chicago <br /> <br />because this is the last time I'll sit <br />on the Water Tower waiting. <br />I'd rather go blind than see <br /> <br />you in that gown, <br />black satin and grace, <br />stop in the air <br /> <br />laugh like a loon <br />then float like a feather <br />back to Savannah.<br /><br />Donal Mahoney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/savannah-belle/
