The guns of Christianshavn all stay mute ‒
the isles and beaches reclaimed from the sea ‒
the battlements now bear a different fruit:
a grass not native to this Danish scree.
As Aircondition, Autogena stand
where ball and shot and gunpowder were stored,
the Fakirskolen helps us comprehend
the pen is truly mightier than the sword.
The lazy curl of dope smoke fills the air
all down along the Stadsgraven canal,
and though our lives are never truly fair,
we have an optimistic rationale:
that Christiania will survive its trials
and look towards the future with a smile.