• foreverseptember 63w

    Shallow Times

    No one rested,
    Not in those shallow times,
    Harsh, those cobbles,
    In echoed hoof steps,
    "On ye go", the master's voice,
    Trudging off unto nowhere,
    Haste would be unwelcome,
    Or speed be once behest,
    Still, no stillness,
    Figures loitering on corners,
    Babble of mixed conversations,
    Ears turned to hear,
    Creaking cart, spindle wheels,
    Forever "on ye go",
    Undisturbed, the industrial sky,
    Gathers smog from every factory.
    ©foreverseptember