Beyond the world of green
in his open-air cathedral,
sits the golden prince
like an altarpiece.

So loved was he
that she would stop at nothing
in her sorrow and adoration;
seeing the sky as the limit
with a needlepoint spire
pinching the underbelly
of the London Fog.

Nowhere in the west
do we get much closer
to the spirit of Taj Mahal.

And right across the street
his gaze rests upon that well known hall.


All built in that day and age
we've labelled the victorian.