A Walking Sadness

Poem By Richard George

The Euston Road. April. Night.
Of all these London numberless
I love one:
my old shoes pound her name,
Lorna. Lorna.
Poet's shoes.
Now I SEE faces pass,
projected on her photoplay
for not being Lorna:
I have never felt this living,
thirty and a day
in artificial light and rain
and windscreen tear-blink.

Comments about A Walking Sadness

calming and beautiful....but it makes me sad.....when someone looses the one.....that's sad.....: ( but i like the poem.....its very well written 10+
Beautiful but sad pictures comes to me reading you poem There is such a strong sense of presence in your poem and the title is brilliant! Thank you Pia
Love the imagery...........beautifully written Richard. Sincerely, Mary


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