LIKE diamond on window pane,
The sky is jagged by spears of rain.
As splashed by layers of grease and lard
The slate-roofs glitter cold and hard.
And people drag their damp-soled feet
Like sacks of dough along the street.
Some orange peel of yesternight
Brightens the gutter’s mud-choked plight.
The ghosts of last night’s riot-spilth
Mingle with puddle, slime and filth.
A lady walks to Church, her pet
White prayer book shielded from the wet.
Umbrella dripping, gloves, frock-coat
A man sails Churchwards like a boat.
Red, smug-faced schoolboys slouch and lurch
Before the grimy Gothic Church.
Soon sound has ceased except th’ inane
Plop-plopping of the Sunday rain.