On old street <br />slumbering Sunday morning <br />Grey slate sky <br />Naked bony trees <br />A chorus of chripy birds <br />sing from above. <br />Clouds are made, <br />clouds are destroyed <br />Petrol puddles <br />give birth to rainbowed ripples <br />which fade from the eye <br />before the wind <br />awakens them once more. <br />On Old Street <br />curtains are slowly parted <br />sleepy light seeps through <br />Like dominos the houses <br />wake in turn <br />Lights flicker <br />deep rivers begin <br />to flow beneath me <br />warm fumes of heated bread <br />trace my posistion <br />And I am alone no more.<br /><br />Not Long Left<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/breakfast-on-old-street/
