:: Eversong ::

:: Wednesday, May 07, 2003 ::

The Gloucester Street Girls (Chris Turner)

On the damp street corner,
And the frozen wint'ry lane,
Stand the Gloucester Street Girls,
Like a gaggle, watching life go by.

"How is your Sidney?", asks one,
"Oooh, I'm glad you asked," replies another.
"It's nippy today, wrap up well," drones the mittened one,
"Oooh, young folk of today," warbles the next.

Like time itself, they have been there forever,
(But never after 12, it gets cold you see)
Age has wearied them, and the years have condemned,
Spring chickens have not become wise owls.

"My Arthur loves his garden," mumbles one,
"We never had gardens in the war," replies another.
"They don't make them like that anymore!", mutters the mittened one,
"Oooh, young folk of today," prattles the next.

The street corner lives for them,
It has heard all their conversations,
And one day it will stand empty,
When silence comes to Gloucester Street.

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Another poem that has been on the back burner for a while, I decided to write it today. Every day, as I walk up to the History department, I have to pass this crowd of old women on Gloucester Street, and without fail they're always there - but, as the poem states, never after 12. They're just harmless old ladies, passing the time for many empty hours in the day, and have become part of the local furniture. I hope I captured their essence well enough for you to be able to picture them.
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:: Plod 1:56 AM [+] ::
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