The winter evening settles down <br />With smell of steaks in passageways. <br />Six o'clock. <br />The burnt-out ends of smoky days. <br />And now a gusty shower wraps <br />The grimy scraps <br />Of withered leaves about your feet <br />And newspapers from vacant lots; <br />The showers beat <br />On broken blinds and chimney-pots, <br />And at the corner of the street <br />A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. <br />And then the lighting of the lamps.<br /><br />T. S. Eliot<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/preludes/
