NOT WAVING BUT DROWNING

My favourite Italian city, Venice, is once again struggling to cope with yet another aqua alta, one of several in the last couple of months. 
If sea levels continue to rise it bodes ill for the future of La Serenissima.

THE DROWNED CITY

A tide is rising in the flooded streets:

while residents stare dully, others weep.

A chill sea-fog enfolds, like winding sheets,

the drowned canals whose banks lie fathoms deep.

Abandoned kiosks float like ghostly ships.

The sky scowls down apocalyptically          

as, steadily, the ancient city slips,

into an endlessly encroaching sea.     

Upon the moving water, like a shroud,

fog spreads across the great drowned city’s face. 

The stately palaces, serene and proud,

sink helplessly into the sea’s embrace.

Now all are dispossessed, both foe and friend,

that called this city home, that sipped its wine 

and swore their tenancy would never end.

Those glasses, raised, now bear the taint of brine.

The sea, demanding, cannot be defied.

Departing birds rise over the lagoon.

Below extends the ever-marching tide.

The world expected this but not so soon.