Shimmering Raindrops

A homage to London streets,

Where the shimmering raindrops

Hang from glossy-named shops,

Parisienne girls with their faces wide:

Fifi, Martine; the shops call their pride,

Places where starlight

Sits in the palm of windows,

Welcoming bright,

‘Come out from the cold,

And the patter of rain’

Call the shops with their exotic names,

A contrast to the roads,

Broad and dull in their tone,

They slink around monuments,

No reason to sit like the stores.

Next the seven dials,

All faux-clockwork and cold hands,

Marble agape in a tower;

The storm-filled puddles

Are eyes into the world,

Below the speckled sky,

Above, a wonder of the mind.

All the common ones who walk,

They take no notice

Of an uncommon thinker’s treasure:

An island of shimmers,

The music of the rain

As it lands on London streets.

The End

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