For I’ve suspicion
No matter how I’m wishing
Should I fulfill my mission
Truth could never glisten
so much as London in my mind.
Streets of cobble
Where grey philosophers hobble
and young boys in knickers dwaddle
En route to school with books and pencil
on a crisp overcast day.
To tea I came
Through intermittent rain
I hear of scandals and feign
my composure to retain.
And we laugh at nothing through thunder.
Merry people stop
On narrow streets with quaint shops.
The light is always on, a meal always hot
A gorgeous place, is it not?
London in my mind.
A dancer on the walk
With an artist stops to talk.
Snow falls, and aristocrats balk
As if it were some knave’s fault
the snow loved the city so.
Museums are full
Of critics who praise, consider and cull.
And at night, it’s wonderful
to see lights dance ‘neath clouds so dull
from an outdoor cafe.
For now, though, I smile
Sitting on my summery porch awhile.
Had I money, wit and guile,
Perhaps I’d take London with style.
But maybe it’s best
To keep London in my mind.
ismene 8/98