Here at the edge of
Highbury Fields
I hear machines
gasping in
the night
soft lost voices
rising in hushed questioning
tones and flowing out
into the night
BE STILL BEASTS!
Turn from thr type writer clack
of the banker wife's
high-click heels
turn from the hurling
drunk
and from the sirens
and from the plunging
dark
that seeps inkily through
the hours until the
wide bright world of morning
Flow gentle on
the night's river
be still
and greet the sea of morning as a
friend
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