The night ends on a grey drizzly morning with the light of yesterday sub-planted by a dim that carries for miles away.
She walks out of her brick laden doorway the steps of cement a laborers long ago firmament she looks ahead breathing in the grey morning’s urban scent.
The skies may be dull but in her eyes there is no lull no matter how down the day she is always ready always willing to touch her world in her amazing loving way.
The rain she believes is a washing of the world of its pain of its downward swirling dread from which will come spring and its wonderful growth denying winter’s hold so cold so dead.
Her fedora and her styles light up many with greetings and smiles as she makes her way to the station’s turnstiles the beauty of her face casting light for miles.
She is a poem she is a song in the city where her words can never go wrong in the city where her love and light last a life long.