Poverty
Mist
A death
On the street
A child skipping gaily
Running
Hopping.
So sweet
The gutters cleansed
Just a man
With his cart
As the milk
Gently warming
At the afternoon start
The doorsteps gleaming
They are every day
From moments dreaming
That poverty
Won't stay
Inspiration: "London Street, 1951" by Robert Frank
An afternoon nearly wasted on hopeless poetry blogs of rhyming verse about butterflies and ex-boyfriends... Yours is the combo breaker. Thanks!
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