Yes it’s grey
It’s old and cold.
It’s crowded
And what you see are fancy dresses
crossing bridges.
Wilde was a local at the corner pub and like him
“I have nothing to declare except my genius”
Spring is slightly different from winter
And summer from spring.
The fall is nutty on its red dress.
It’s cold and windy. Less windy or less cold.
The sun is slow, the buses as well
It’s the place where I could become
But that is yet to happen.
There are gardens all around
And most of the time my pocket is just with a pound.
It’s London where I live now.
