Читать книгу Hazards - Wilfrid Wilson Gibson - Страница 8

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As the plane banked in turning, far below

He saw the streets and houses of the town,

And felt like a new Gulliver looking down

On Liliput, toy dwellings row on row,

And tiny toy-like people scurrying round

In fussy little cars through street and square;

And on that thronged and smoky patch of ground,

Free of the blue serenity of air,

He looked amazed, and muttered—Can this be

My native place? Are they my fellow men,

Those midgets? Then his own house suddenly

He saw; and, as of all it held he thought,

With one desire his anxious heart was fraught—

To be with his own kind on earth again.