Think of meImage result for victorian factory workers

With a deep inhale:

When the sun rises

Between the columns of the cathedral.

Smelling the foggy morning

Factory smoke mingled dew.

Bread fresh in the wee hours of dawn,

Waiting for the tired housemaid.

With soft touch:

Brushing past the

Oak in Kensal Green;

I waited in my best dress.

Apple ripe-


Like a razor.

Taste of the market in fall

Tinged with green.

This entry was posted in England, historical, poetry, Thoughts, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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