| Grim faced and forbidding, their faces closed tight
|
| An angular mass of New Yorkers
|
| Pacing in rhythm, race the oncoming night
|
| They chase through the streets of Manhattan
|
| Head first humanity, pause at a light
|
| Then flow through the streets of the city
|
| They seem oblivious to a soft spring rain
|
| Like an English rain
|
| So light, yet endless
|
| From a leaden sky
|
| The buildings are lost in their limitless rise
|
| My feet catch the pulse and the purposeful stride
|
| I feel the sense of possibilities
|
| I feel the wrench of hard realities
|
| The focus is sharp in the city
|
| Wide angle watcher on life’s ancient tales
|
| Steeped in the history of London
|
| Green and grey washes in a wispy white veil
|
| Mist in the streets of Westminster
|
| Wistful and weathered, the pride still prevails
|
| Alive in the streets of the city
|
| Are they oblivious to this quality?
|
| A quality
|
| Of light unique to
|
| Every city’s streets
|
| («'Ello!»
|
| «Morning, guv.»)
|
| Pavements may teem with intense energy
|
| But the city is calm in this violent sea
|
| I feel the sense of possibilities
|
| I feel the wrench of hard realities
|
| The focus is sharp in the city |