Touch

A mahogany of lost leaden high
The namesake kept its promise
The turbulence of sea horse runner
The silver disk is a little low tonight
For Baroque's touch of medias res
The high strung of novelty
The joyous currents of sea beds
Leaves me open stranded 
In an Island of Mediterranean blue
I sing and hum the national green 
The olive touch of Texas to Britain
Ghettos land in the islands of poverty
I skimmed a solistic touch.