City of Orphans

The gala of the noisy streets call out
for me to come back home to gridlocked blocks
and roaring trains and rushing feet, to shout
with all my soul amidst the glitz and schlock
that I belong to New York's orphaned souls.
We longing throngs are lost and searching for
a way back to our all consuming goal:
return to foreign and familiar shores.
For not all New York bred are New York born.
Yet still we claim to be the borough called,
the borough drawn, adopted by the worn
and ever-changing face of city halls.
We searched the world to find the rising stone
and make the dancing skyline our new home.