On a brighter note
a Thames lighter boat,
where the rivermen between the banks give thanks to
tidal waves and wave across between the shores,between the puritans and whores,
Southwark never bores the citizens,pitting them against the age where Shakespeare plays upon the stage and Chaucer sits in Tabard Square,
awaits the pilgrims who are milling corn atop the bridge.

Cromwell sells the tickets for his latest gig,to dig the graves and inter the raving lunatics who switch from bedlam down to palaces in the minster where the spinster out of place knits balaclavas for the faces that she sees dropping from a guillotine,
these things I’ve seen a thousand times, written in ten thousand lines and acted out below the chimes of clocks that stand before the sway of one more ‘down south london way’ or anyway what do I care if it’s share and share alike or not.
I’ve got allotted but a short spell here,time for dinner,one more glass of beer and then my dear I’m on my way,
to stroll through more of yesterday.


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