Poem 294 – St. Mark’s, Regent’s Park

A silent street, a city-lit sky,
Dull footsteps of a poet on the ground,
Rucksack on back, hand in pocket,
Hearing the distant traffic and cheers,
When from the mausoleum beside
A bell tolls, irregular chimes,
Marking the passing of sufficient time
To call it eleven hours of the evening
And send the poet to bed.

***

Dear readers,

This is the last poem of this week – I was on a late-night walk, and heard the bells chime just as I happened to walk past the church. So, of course, I wrote a poem.

Kind regards,

The Hapless Neo-Romantic

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