BW ( / )

Twelve Hours

The last train rumbles out
The smell of soot fills the air
Midnight strikes.
Late night revellers stagger home
Leaving litter as they go.
Shadows of street lamps
Cast their glow
Over a deserted urban landscape.
Rain rattles down
The pavements steam and smell
A silent milkman swishes past
Heralding a brand new day

Hold tight,
The clippie cries,
As the bus pulls from the kerb,
Movers and shakers,
Nurses and bakers,
Are on their way to work.
The weary city opens its eyes,
Daylight starts to dawn,
A brand new day,
Comes to life,
And the eternal circle,
Carries on.

by Billy Wright

Comments (1)

The weary city opens its eyes, Daylight starts to dawn, A brand new day, Comes to life, And the eternal circle, bringing in the thoughts of daily life, its monotony. struggle, and lack of luster and joy. thank you very much for this poem.....dear poet. tony