  LIKE diamond on window pane, The sky is jagged by spears of rain. As splashed by layers of grease and lard The slate-roofs glitter cold and hard. And people drag their damp-soled feet Like sacks of dough along the street. Some orange peel of yesternight Brightens the gutter’s mud-choked plight. The ghosts of last night’s riot-spilth Mingle with puddle, slime and filth. A lady walks to Church, her pet White prayer book shielded from the wet. Umbrella dripping, gloves, frock-coat A man sails Churchwards like a boat. Red, smug-faced schoolboys slouch and lurch Before the grimy Gothic Church. Soon sound has ceased except th’ inane Plop-plopping of the Sunday rain. |
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