A tolerant city breath low in the frost of the morning chill,
proud and resilient the cold marks its earth/
The icey stoned walk warming the souls of immigrant shopkeepers well the youth make their way home
before the sun seeps through the clouds/
Masculine bricks banking the unabridged maze of bookies, tailors and gypsy bakers
hustling to the metro march of the central line/
The city helps us sing to the heavens,
with her majesty's grace we pretty young things run wild with a pint in our hands/
Hiding in trees, the homes for lost old men sleeping off lost old dreams
this traditional land of word and labour/
An ode to our dry flaky skin
a freedom for our making/
London she breathes
I miss you
Bio:
Steve is new to the world of literature, after working as a tradesmen building houses, he quit his job and moved to London. Upon his travels he discovered a love for poetry and in March 2020 began writing his own poems during the covid quarantine back in Australia.