London in November

Footsteps in soft rain,

cold leaves blown in the London wind,

the rumbling traffic trembles the trees

of the park and lamplight fills golden pools'

reflections of city sky.


Do you remember the warm words

carried away like leaves by time?

the touch of an arm on your shoulder?

Do you recall the footfall

we left behind us on the dark path ?

We went on, you remember,

around us the lights of distant cars,

below us in the deep earth

there were trains running and

in some tunnel a young busker

playing a guitar.

The music still churns

my heart.      


To MP.