Brick Lane

My old friend from far afield flew in today
She had been lost in the recent storm
That broke the branches and ripped the roofs
Of her own quiet green country village.

She flew in an a bluster of air
She glided and flapped and struggled
To stay alive in the gusting gale
That battered the country.

As the wind abated she landed
Her tiny feet grabbed hold of a weather vane
She ruffled her feathers and took a look around
In front of her stood a busy bagle shop.

She was hungry, she leapt down to the ground
Looking for crumbs and eyeing with her brown eye
The cream cheese bagles being consumed by the peckish people
Shoo they went, shoo said the proprieter.

She fluttered away but not far away
She circled and landed on a pram parked outside a brewery.
She saw the bustle of resturanteurs calling to passersby
And the appetising sundries in the windows of the delicatessants.

Coo-coo I went when I saw her
Cooly taking the crumbs from beneath the feet of tourists
She fluttered away without hearing me
Onto a roof above a craftsmans workshop.

I followed trying to get her attension
Below a car honking at the crowd came to a stop in Brick Lane

 

 

 

 

 

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