The street

a poem by Charles Fisher, UK

The street of the past,
Where couples in youth,
Walked hand in hand,
Pushing new born in prams:
Cigarettes being smoke, pleasure
Leisurely stroll, pass other newly couples;
New tenements with chimneys early birds,
Sing in the newly light of a Sunday walk

Time; the street has past its best
The tenements have long gone:
Rubble ground; where living families
Once proud for a new day. They have
All been swept away, by a darken cloud
That told a lie, and made a life, with
No leisurely walk along Sunday street

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