To My Dearest Nunhead Abby Peschges I wish to send my deepest apologies for not having the time To spend a whole day with you. But I promise to come back to visit soon For I had such a pleasure conversing with the citizens Of your necropolis and walking through your garden Amongst the trees and bushes and ivy, slowly realizing that all Of them are united to a grave. Lost, forgotten, and abandoned. Surrounded by high walls of bricks to contain you. The depth of your dead unknown to most because you are modest. Your surface known only By the few who walk, run, stroll, and picnic in your heart, Seeing your view of London from above. You, the protector of St. Paul’s, only receive gratitude from the locals. Left to turn back to your wild prehistoric state Using the tombs as foundation and life. Overshadowed by the other Magnificents: Brompton has Peter Rabbett, Highgate has Marx. Even Kensel Green has the ashes of Freddie Mercury. But in my heart you are not the omega. You are my Alpha and the most majestic, because in a land of brick, Stone, and cigarette smoke, you are a gem of wilderness Filled with the people who are not remembered, Unknowns left to rot in the city they built.
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