Introduction: <br /> <br />I wrote this in the middle of the night, many years ago. <br />My mind went back to when I was a little girl <br />and my brother and I went to visit my Grandfather. <br />We stopped that day to walk through the City. There was a mist that morning and a fine rain, the sort that makes your hair frizz. <br />The tranquillity of the early morning streets was rudely broken <br />by people coming to the City to work and so here is my memory: <br /> <br />- - <br /> <br />Early morning after a thunderous night <br />I can breathe easy. <br />If I'm quiet I may hear the sound of birdsong. <br />Sometimes there is a mist. <br />It hangs over London like a veil. <br />Soon dawn's empty streets <br />will heave with massing crowds. <br />but until then all London is at peace. <br /> <br />The gentle tinkling of milk bottles <br />breaks the quiet <br />and the smell of bacon and fried bread <br />waft through the chill morning air. <br />Sounds of sirens fill my head and <br />concrete rises heavenward, filling my eyes, <br />crushing their foundations through my soul. <br />A sickness seeps through me, everything beautiful is gone. <br /> <br />'Morning paper, read all about it! ' <br />Girls hurry buy in tight blue jeans, <br />men in suits, some in Mac's, <br />high-heeled ladies, clicky, click, clack. <br />Poor old tramp, fingernails black, <br />stirs on the floor beside a closed door, <br />‘Got the price of a cuppa luv', he calls. <br />The girl quickens her pace. <br />A couple kiss in tender bliss <br />A young man sighs, a baby cries, <br />an old lady dies on the streets of London. <br /> <br />Early morning after a thunderous night <br />you can breathe easy. <br />You may hear the sound of birdsong <br />Sometimes there is a mist. <br />It hangs over London like a veil<br /><br />Ruth Walters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-city-of-london/
